


Learning A New Dance

by the_tilly



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Scene, BRUCE HAS FEELINGS, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Joker, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce and Joker don't have time for your gender rules, Corporal Punishment, Crossdressing, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Drinking, Drunkenness, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gender Roles, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Joker gets wasted, Joker has feelings too, M/M, Masochism, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Joker/Harleen Quinzel, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Behavior, Rope Bondage, Serious Injuries, Smoking, Spanking, Threats of Violence, Top Bruce Wayne, Unsafe Sex, Violent Sex, Violent Thoughts, submissive joker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 90,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17220959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_tilly/pseuds/the_tilly
Summary: Joker broke out of Arkham because he wanted to. It had nothing to do with the news showing a photo of his Batman with Catwoman. Absolutely not.Or the story of how Joker tries to make Batman jealous and ends up falling in love with Bruce Wayne instead.Harley/Joker is past only.





	1. Sunday

Most people assume the Joker is straight. That is, those who believe he’s even capable of feeling anything remotely sensual that doesn’t involve an elaborate scheme where at least a dozen people are murdered, and Batman shows up to punch him in the face. Though, why they even thought he was straight was a bit of a mystery.

Well, there was Harley of course. The assumption was that they were having fun playing doctor on each other at least once a week, if Joker wasn’t throwing her out, or if she wasn’t staying with Ivy for the weekend. The way Harley looked at Joker like he hung the moon gave a lot of people that impression. Joker would find it funny to watch people’s faces when he informed them that Harley and he only had sex a few times in the early years, and maybe every once in awhile when each were terribly bored, but they didn’t go at it like insane rabbits.

He would enjoy those looks, if he cared about sharing anything. And Harley loved to flirt, so there was that. She was a terrible flirt, almost as bad as Joker when he wanted to be. Which was usually the case.

That was probably why they got along so well. They were a yin and yang of the corrupt breed. He used the excuse of a bad day to turn him into the clown he was, and she used his manipulations as an excuse to let loose. To outsiders, it was easy for them to conclude what they saw was what they got. For Joker and Harley, they each understood the other, for better or worse. Harley knew Joker acted out because he couldn’t fathom looking back, and Joker knew Harley was trying to outrun the expectations on her. They would bring these secrets to the grave.

But, understanding someone, and loving them were two different things. Well, one could argue it was similar, or in the same ball park as each other, but that was besides the point. Joker wasn’t in love with Harley, and Harley wasn’t in love with Joker.

Which brings up the original point. Joker wasn’t straight.

Joker wasn’t sure what he was, but he knew some things. He was attracted to Harley enough to enjoy their trips in the bedroom. He knew Two-Face was a great playmate, and depending on which Harvey he got, Joker was in for a damn good time. He knew that Waylon was sculpted like a statue, and Joker drooled at his bare chest when they saw each other in passing. He knew that Supergirl had the nicest legs he’d ever seen on a person and imagined certain scenarios of his face being squeezed by her thighs. Wonder Woman when she used her lasso did things for him, he’d rather not speak about in public. Or private.

He may also have a thing for Superman. Last time he encountered Superman he put a hand around his throat, and Joker recalled that sensation a few times in more private moments.

Even Batman never squeezed him that hard before.

Speaking of the Bat, Joker also knew he would give everyone up else in a heartbeat if Batman asked him to. Batman was Joker’s one true love, if there was such a thing. Joker valued their relationship above all else, which is why Joker planned his nights out with Batman months in advance, and made sure Batman knew it was all for him. It was a beautiful, strange, frustrating, and earth-shattering connection. Something no one else ever seemed to comprehend, but that was alright.

Joker liked having something special.

Which is why he was moping in Arkham yet again after Batman threw him in.

It wasn't even that big of a plot. Just a few pipe bombs in the subway system and a handful of gangsters in a confined space ready to tear each other limb from limb. Joker may have whispered a few rumors that made them be all murder hungry on each other, but it was a relatively harmless game all things considered.

Joker didn't even kill anyone that time. He had adapted his routine to fit his Dark Knight and if the winged rodent stopped to realize it, Joker was sure he would appreciate the effort. Joker and his bats would be so good together. Batman just had to see it and choose to see the funnier side of life.

Joker would wait until his dying breath if he had to for the day Batman chose him.

That didn’t mean Joker couldn’t have fun on the side while waiting for Batman to choose. It wasn’t _cheating._ If Batman stated they were exclusive, it would be. But he didn’t. After all, rumor has it that Batman shacked up with Catwoman more than once. Joker guessed they could have fun, if they made each other a priority above all others. Which, Joker held up that unspoken side of their bargain. Batman usually did too, if Catwoman was out of town.

When she was in town however, Joker’s blood began to boil, Batman would drop everything for her. And that was unacceptable. They had a good thing going when she wasn’t around.

For the last few months, it’s been silent on the cat front. If it stayed that way, Batman and Joker would have no issues picking up where they left off. But, until then, they could relax knowing each other were the most important person in their lives. That their beautiful routine wasn’t at risk.

So, when Joker felt an itch to have some fun with other people, he did. It wasn’t like _he_ had a Catwoman on the side.  

It had been a few months since his last trip outside in the city, and Joker could feel the itch beneath his skin. He was unfortunate enough to not have his backup playmates Harley, or Harvey in with him.

Harley had shacked up with Ivy, and Joker had a feeling he may not be seeing her in Arkham anytime soon. Harley had been quiet lately, but she was usually busy keeping Joker’s henchmen in line and laying low to prevent both from being locked up.

That always upset their hyenas when mommy and daddy were locked away. They avoided it whenever possible since Bud and Lou could become impossible to deal with for weeks if they got separated.

Not to mention how they would destroy the furniture.

Harvey Dent was currently in a half-way house, passing his mental tests, and slowly rebuilding his life. Last Joker heard, he was preparing for surgery to repair his face which Joker thought was a waste of money since Harvey never looked better to him. It was the little things that gave people character, why should someone pay to remove that? Besides, playing with both sides of Harvey was always half the fun!

Joker tapped his finger against his chin taking in his surroundings. The rec room of Arkham was sourly lacking in anything resembling recreation. The board table was scratched and torn to the point the original paint of a board was almost invisible. Not to mention any pieces to any of the games were missing, broken, or sets taken away due to them being ‘dangerous’ in certain inmate’s hands. They wouldn’t even allow playing cards since the time Joker whittled the paper down to make a razor and killed a few guards.

It wasn’t his fault they didn’t get the joke.

Without any proper tools to play with, that left the other inmates. It was slim pickings this tour, and none of them were up to Joker’s standards.

There was Tetch, who Joker wouldn’t touch if he was the last person on earth. Joker did a lot of messed up things, and he’s aware of that, but Tetch’s obsession with young teen girls, was a bit much. Not to mention, though Joker had great legs in a dress, he really didn’t fit the category of what Tetch would find appealing.

Freeze was also in, which was surprising. Freeze usually kept quiet when he escaped to the point that Batman rarely focused on getting him back to Arkham. Though, Joker could understand attraction to the rather chiseled man, he preferred his parts to stay intact. Frost bite wasn’t a fun time even for Joker.

Zsasz was drugged up in a corner, drooling on his own shirt, and not a subject of Joker’s eye. Zsasz was off putting, single minded, and boring when he wasn’t holding a knife. While Joker understood the excitement of knife play, he didn’t care for the outcome Zsasz would surely have in mind.

Bane was locked at least two floors below, and Joker wasn’t foolish enough to even offer the man a good time. Bane was horribly straight, and Joker suspected he’d rather pummel another man than kiss him. Joker liked being able to eat without a straw for the foreseeable future.

Joker barely paid attention to the other dozen or so inmates. They were beneath his notice, as they were rarely on the outside once Batman caught them. If they couldn’t escape Arkham at least twice, they weren’t smart enough for Joker to care about.

Joker stuck out his tongue thinking of offering the guards or doctors a fun time. Most guards were terrified of him to the point of pissing their pants if Joker so much as sneezed near them. He couldn’t stand cowards. Or, they thought they could ‘fix’ him which only put Joker into a rage.

These people just made his skin crawl.

Which left only two options. Either, Joker waits for someone with appeal to be put back in the cage, or he had to escape to find his fun. He knew how the itch went. If he didn’t scratch it soon, it would drive him mad.

Well, mad _der_.

Joker snickered, and decided a good old breakout was the solution to his problems. There was just so much more fun on the outside. He would have to wait for a good time to slip out and give the city something to keep itself awake at night for. Not to mention a date with Batman was in order.

With his decision made, Joker turned his ear to listen to the news playing on the tv.

Like clockwork the inmates were left in the recreation room until the 8pm news was over. Then the guards would rush in to escort them all to their cells, and depending on who the inmate was, they may go first. Joker made sure he behaved well enough to watch the news, after all, it was always a good idea to keep at least the basics when locked on the inside. Even when it started out with gossip on Gotham’s favorite son, Bruce Wayne and how he was seen breaking up with another super model after suspected cheating.

Joker sighed already bored of seeing the playboy dominate the news when there were better subjects to discuss. He didn't have long at the TV and the least interesting socialite was going to end up with a pipe bomb in his new car if he kept the news occupied on his lack of sexual impulse control.

Joker gripped the remote and his eyes darted to the clock. He only had twenty minutes left, and hopefully they saved the best for last.

After a few minutes, the news turned to Joker’s favorite subject: Batman. As always, the evening news reported the crime rates, recent murders, and eventually, spoke about Batman’s latest activities. Joker found the news stories to be the highlight of his stay in Arkham. The grainy security footage, a sketch artist rendering, and the one-time police copters caught a shot of Batman leaping over a tower ledge.

Every bit of his darling was treasured, and Joker wouldn't miss his news for anything. The reporter speaking about Batman as though he may or may not be real. A figure in the shadows, and then. They caught a new photo of the bat!

Joker grinned wide at the sight he was about to behold. 

Then, Joker felt his stomach drop.

Catwoman and his Batman were shown, in an embrace on top of the Gotham Museum where Catwoman most likely just stole their missing painting from.

Joker could barely hear his own breathing as he waited for the ending that should be coming to the news story. Batman would bring Catwoman to justice, leaving her in the GCPD hands, and she would be in jail before breaking out, and leaving Gotham again until the heat cooled. That’s how this worked.

Right?

The news ended with saying Catwoman was still on the run, and the GCPD made no comment on the matter of the stolen piece.

Catwoman was back in Gotham. _Loose_. And with **_HIS BATMAN_**!

Joker felt his blood boil, seething, and was barely aware of him throwing a chair into the TV to smash it to pieces. He raged, and screamed, and beat any living thing that dared get close enough to him. This included several guards, and a few lower inmates.

Joker couldn’t even be pleased to see he murdered at least three people in his fit. His night was ruined, and his heart was pounding as he was dragged into his cell.

They threatened him with a straight jacket if he refused to calm down, and Joker thought that was just what he needed, so he tore his mattress.

He grinned, full, and wide, as they strapped him in, and turned off his light as punishment. They would be back in the morning to give him the drugs that made him almost comatose. It would last a few weeks before they slowly edged him off, but by then, the damage to his muscles would be complete. From disuse they would wilt, and it would be twice as long for Joker to build up the strength to cause real damage.

Little did they know, he wasn’t about to stick out the full duration of his punishment. Not when he had some business to take care of in Gotham.

Break outs during night were always the hardest to pull off. Not because of the security at Arkham. No, they were rather laughable at the best of times, though the new locks on Joker’s cell took him twice as long as usual to break. The real trouble about night breakouts was the big bad Bat.

If Batman didn’t have another crime to solve such as a lovely hostage situation, or an important case he was working on, the odds of him gunning for whoever broke out were higher than what Joker liked to play. Which is why most of the seasoned criminals of Gotham waited for news stories to appear of a big crime spree prior to planning their break outs. Joker wasn’t afforded the luxury this time.

Sneaking around also wasn’t his favorite. He loved making a show of his escape, leaving at least a few bodies on the ground and echoes of his laugh in his wake. Those were the delightful memories he kept with him, when the walls closed in, and the musty scent of Arkham became too much.

Joker curled his lip, hating every second of his crawl through the ventilation system, and the need to pause every few feet when a guard made a round. The noise from shifting his weight was almost deafening during quiet night and empty halls. He knew there was only a period of half an hour before the guard would circle around Joker’s cell. He stuffed the straight jacket with his thin sheet, and thinner pillow which barely passed as a body in the bed. Joker had to resort to pulling the minor stuffing from the mattress to form the rest of the head and legs.

Not his best work, but it may do in a pinch. Hopefully, long enough to allow another pass of the guards.

Joker slipped out of the roof vent, carefully replacing the grate, and slid down the drain pipe to the ground. He knew the rounds, and movement detectors by heart, counting down each pass, then slipping through. He made it to the tree line when the sirens went off and allowed himself a chuckle as he sprinted through the woods.

There were rare times he wished Arkham would provide shoes better than the slippers. Don’t get him wrong, the slippers were awfully comfortable, and kept his toes warm even against the chilling stone of Arkham’s floors. They just didn’t make stomping through the mud easy. He was forced to abandon them, stuffing one into the other, and shoving them under a bush. Even covered in mud, their bright pink material would be easily spotted by anyone attempting to track Joker’s footsteps.

The woods always felt as though they went on forever. Most people when they get trapped in a dense wooded area in the dead of night travel in circles. It’s an instinct that humans always try to find their way back when they are lost, and it impairs anyone attempting an escape if they don’t understand how to navigate using the stars. Luckily, Joker wasn’t impaired by his instincts.

Though it did take him a few seconds to realize he was staring at a plane, not a star. Cursing, he shifted his position, and with luck, corrected it enough to breach the woods, and come across the small urban area of Gotham. He waited in the shadows for signs of Batman.

He was almost angry that he didn’t see the pointy ears trying to track him. With the distance he took, and the timing, Batman should be around the woods looking for Joker.

But it was clear.

Joker fought down the urge to find a random house and kill everyone in it just to assuage some of his rage. He had better plans to work on, and he had a cat to skin.

He moved through the backyards towards the bigger city where he would have greater cover. It didn’t take long until the grim outline of Gotham’s city line rose from the smog like an overgrown graveyard. Avoiding the main roads was easier the closer he got to the city, and his travelling became quicker once he no longer had to walk through wet soil.

Though concrete was barely an improvement.

He travelled through buildings. Like many cities, Gotham had a few connecting buildings that structured walk ways, and malls together to avoid having heavy foot traffic near the roads. This worked well in Joker’s favor as it kept him away from the crowds on the street, and kept him covered from vehicles, or gliding bats. The issue was the connections would stop eventually, and Joker would have to rely on getting to an alleyway, which was the least safe way to travel. Batman liked to prowl those areas heavily or worse, he would send Robin to search.

Batman always picked the tattletales for his side kicks.

Joker reached the street doors, the end of the line for the connected buildings. He would have to dart between buildings, using service doors, back entrances, and poorly lit areas for cover. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but it was better than walking out in his Arkham uniform on the streets.

It also avoided those terrible traffic cameras that Batman liked to hack and use to track villains through.

Joker made sure to keep watching the sky to see if there was a bat shape gliding around or listen to any sounds of disturbed dirt. It was rare Batman would give himself away, but there was always a chance, and Joker was willing to take it.

On his fifth pass between buildings, Joker saw the faintest hint of something going above. He ducked back into the shadows and waited.

He loved his Batman, but it wouldn’t do well to just be taken back to Arkham tonight. There was so much to do, and Joker was getting antsy. He also hated improvising a whole evening instead of planning the details. His Bat deserved a planned date, not some sort of rushed affair, and Joker loved to wine and dine the man. It was the least he could do for his one true love.

And it would certainly win his attention away from certain felines whom Joker hoped was reaching the end of their nine lives.

Joker stayed still for a few minutes, his heart fluttering in his chest, watching the shadow go overhead. Batman was circling the area, knowing Joker couldn’t have gotten very far on foot, and most likely saw him in one of the mall security cameras, though Joker was sure he avoided them. He may have tracked Joker’s run through the woods, and just made some educated guesses. He probably knew that Joker was pinned down, waiting for the patrol to ease up. It was sometimes a terrible thing for Batman to know him so well.

Joker knew there was little choice in the matter. He would have to go to the sewers to travel out of the area, and he wasn’t sure if Waylon, AKA Killer Croc was in a welcoming mood. It was the only chance Joker had to go undetected, and as much as he would love to be chased by Batman, he knew their relationship needed some work.

They couldn’t do that if Batman was just going to not listen to Joker and lock him up in Arkham. Joker also needed time to think.

He hated being second string to anyone. Especially Catwoman.

Joker waited until the next pass, where a shadow darted from one rooftop to another, and then dove feet first into the storm drain.

He instantly regretted his quick descent when the water splashed up to his knees and chilled his bare feet. The only good part was the water took away from of the left-over mud from the woods, and he moved his toes to clean the areas in between.

He waited in the sewers, listening, and straining for any sounds of his discovery. Only faint dripping echoing down the pipes, and the occasional sound of distant vehicles. The whole area was remarkably quiet, and almost peaceful as Joker began his slow trudge.

He did his best to walk on the sides of the pipes avoiding the water. It worked to not only protect him from getting further soaked but to prevent the echo of sloshing water which could alert someone to a person being down below.

He walked for almost an hour, watching rats scurry from him, and hating the feeling of bugs crawling around the pipes. There were several embarrassing moments in which Joker shook his hands free of roaches and had to bite his lips to keep from yelping. He wasn’t bothered by bugs usually, but in the dark, and on the run, his normally sensitive skin tingles, and their slight touches feel like needles. The only saving grace was he knew he was almost out of the patrolling area and safe from Batman’s gaze.

The manhole cover allowed five small beams of light to stream down into the sewer, allowing Joker to see his exit. It was only twenty yards or so, and Joker couldn’t wait to get his legs dry, and warm his feet which lost feeling somewhere around park street. He shimmied up the pipes to the narrow ledge where the steel ladder would be. He crept along, barely believing that he would escape here without detection, though honestly, he should know better than to have that thought.

It was just such a brilliant set up for a joke!

Joker felt a tug on his shirt, and only had a moment to bemoan the hole that no doubt was just punched into it, before he was yanked against a hard chest. For just a split-second Joker thought it was Batman before a large hand curled around Joker’s neck tight enough to still Joker’s movements, and the tips of claws to pinch at his skin.

There’s only one person it could be, and Joker wasn’t sure if this was better than Batman finding him or not.

Waylon’s face, well Joker was guessing it was his face, hovered above his shoulder, and a deep rumble went through the chest Joker was plastered to. It didn’t sound pleased. Neither did Waylon.

“What are you doing here clown?” Waylon’s hand flexed, and Joker felt his skin break making him gasp. The pearls of blood began to flow immediately.

Joker took an extra moment to answer, guiltlessly enjoying the feeling of a well muscled body against his own, and the string of wounds. It really had been too long since he indulged in any sort of carnal pleasure, and his temptation to wiggle against the angry giant holding him was too much.

Well, if Batman could play, so could Joker.

“Oh, you know how it is,” Joker began, adjusting in the hold so his ass grazed the body behind him. Ah, there was the heat. Delicious heat. “Just fancied a midnight stroll through the sewers. I heard the pipes were practically swimming in plague infested rats, and just the right amount of morbid skeletal remains so I thought to myself, I had to just come see it first thing after breaking out of Arkham. It really is a sight to see, well, what little I could see in almost absolute darkness. The chew marks no doubt already infected on my feet will remind me of this lovely tour through the sewers.” He paused for a moment. Then, “Ever think of opening up a gift shop? I hear they’re popular at tourist attractions.”

Hot breath blew across Joker’s face, a chuckle perhaps, sending shivers down his spine.

“You talk a lot,” Waylon commented, his lips close to Joker’s ear.

“You don’t say,” Joker said breathlessly. He would normally at least attempt pulling at the hand around his throat, but it was sending glorious jolts of pleasure straight into his cock. He squirmed against the hold, which caused Waylon to grumble.

Much to the Joker’s delight, the hold on his neck tightened enough to make it difficult to breathe, and an arm wrapped around his middle, pulling him flush against Waylon’s body.

There never was a time in Joker’s life he wasn’t proud of his ability to talk. He could scarcely count the amount of times rambling on had caused enough time to pass that a plan eventually formed in his head, or an opportunity presented itself. Usually it was something blowing up, but even in the cold sewers of Gotham, pinned against a much larger, and probably hungry man, a moment did arise.

Or should Joker say, his wiggling caused Waylon to arise.

Oh, Joker was going to have so much fun tonight.

“Please tell me that’s what I think it is,” Joker gasped out, his hands gripping the arm around his waist. Big guys like Waylon loved to hear their partners beg, and Joker knew he played his cards right when Waylon grinded against Joker’s ass.

“Yes or no clown,” Waylon said, his teeth grazing the back of Joker’s neck, then used his tongue to lap up the dripping blood. “I don’t take without permission.”

That almost made Joker bark out a laugh. The thought of a killer, a _cannibal_ no less, needing permission to take some sexual gratification from another. Well, it made an odd sort of sense, as Joker was the same way. The joy was in the surrender, not the taking, and on that they could both agree.

Joker’s breathless _yes_ was all it took to move Waylon to action.

Waylon shoved Joker against the sewer wall like he owed him money. Joker was used to the rough bit, after all his favorite past times were brawling with Batman, and that man could knock people out with a single punch on a bad night, and he rarely had a bad night with Joker.

Joker felt Waylon’s arousal against his ass, and a mouth place nips against his neck. Waylon lifted Joker as though he weighed nothing, which for someone as strong as him was probably not far from the truth and turned Joker around. He kept Joker trapped between his body and the wall, hips grinding together making both groan in desire.

Joker wrapped his legs around Waylon’s waist, allowing Waylon to release his hold, and instead claw at the cement near Joker’s head. Joker watched in fascination as the layers of concrete peeled away under the onslaught, his head dizzy with wonder as to what else they were capable of, when Waylon captured his lips with his own.

For all the strength Waylon possessed, he was tender at kissing. His lips were dry, felt chapped, but they may have been the scaled skin. His tongue pressed against Joker’s, until Joker opened with moaning appreciation for the surprisingly gentle treatment. It sent tingles racing through his body, starting from the lips, and moving lower, and lower. Joker wrapped his arms around Waylon’s broad shoulders for stability.

Waylon began to molest Joker’s body, pinching at his nipples through his shirt which delighted Joker, and stroking Joker from knee to hip, kneading into the muscle as he went. Joker dug his fingernails into Waylon’s shoulders, and Waylon purred in delight. He even gave Joker’s lips a nibble, piercing the soft tissue, and tasting the sharp copper of blood when they resumed kissing.

Joker greedily thrusted back into Waylon, feeling the swell in his lower abdomen, and his cock twitching. The sensation from the touching, and teasing was enough for Joker to almost lose himself. His lips barely moved anymore, too distracted, and he felt Waylon shift to his neck once more, feasting on his skin with teeth and tongue.

Joker’s thighs start to ache from being pushed too far apart. Waylon was a large, barrel of a man, and Joker’s muscles weren’t used to the rigorous activities. It was barely a passing thought that he should ask for a different position when Waylon suddenly cupped his groin, stroked him through the material, and Joker came in his pants.

Joker could feel Waylon’s grin on his neck as he fondled Joker until he spasmed from over stimulation. Joker reached his hand down to get a good feel for how big Waylon was, but Waylon refused to move back. Instead, he grabbed Joker’s wandering hands by the wrist, gripped them in one of his own, and pinned them above Joker’s head.

“No hands,” Waylon warned, then bit hard enough to tear the flesh on the meeting of Joker’s neck and shoulder.

Joker bowed, the exquisite pain burst from the bite, sending a shockwave of pleasure through his body. His eyes rolled back, and it took a few seconds, and Waylon releasing his jaws with a wet pop before Joker could respond.

“Whatever you want big guy,” Joker mewled, grinding his hips against Waylon, over stimulation be damned. He _needed_ this.

Waylon kissed, sucked, and bit every inch of Joker’s neck, all the while thrusting into his hip. Joker writhed, and practically sobbed through it all. His depleted cock being rubbed raw and attempting to become hard again. He winced as Waylon crushed their hips together, no doubt making the mess in Joker’s pants worse.

He was really going to hate walking in them when that dried.

Joker felt his hands go numb when Waylon squeezed them tightly, his rhythm becoming disjointed as the heat built between them, and the other hand grabbing Joker’s hip firm enough to leave croc shaped marks. Joker really wished there was light to see the expression on Waylon’s face when he threw his head back, letting out a deep, guttural growl that barely sounded human as he came thrusting into Joker’s sadly still clothed hips.

They breathed together as Waylon’s body shook from the ebbing pleasure of release, their lips barely grazing, and Waylon’s hold on Joker’s wrists loosening enough for them to fall limp at his sides.

Their session didn’t last how long Joker hoped for, letting out a small whine when Waylon pulled away, making Joker stand on his shaky legs or collapse on the cold ground. He steadied himself with a hand on the wall. Joker already made a mess in his pants, but he could go for another round, or perhaps put those claws to good use.

Oh, how he would love to feel them tear his flesh once more and feel the blood soak his body. They could even use it as lubricant in round two if they got creative enough, and Joker was nothing if not the creative type. His cock throbbed at the mental image.

Waylon cupped Joker’s face and gave him another kiss. Like the beginning of their session, it was slow, gentle, and sensual. Joker could imagine they were lovers parting from a shared bed, and the thought left him panting as Waylon pulled away.

“That was fun, but I don’t require your body each time you pass in my sewers clown,” Waylon said, his hand pressing threateningly at the bruises on Joker’s neck still slick with blood and saliva. “Don’t bring Batman, or any trouble to my lair else I will eat the flesh from your bones.”

Joker found himself leaning into that hand, wanting it to press deeper, craving the agony of over bruised skin. It would hurt for days even when nothing touched them but air, and Joker felt himself aching for it.

“Now, now, I wouldn’t want to be rude to my gracious host. I might even bring a house warming gift next time,” Joker assured and with a devious smirk added. “How does lube, and my body as your utter disposal sound?”

Waylon let out a low rumble at the provocation, the animalistic sound rippling through the sewers. It was the only warning Joker received before his mouth invaded once more, and his body pinned to the wall by the immense strength of Waylon.

Joker moaned, and wiggled, his stomach burning in excruciating pleasure at the focus. Waylon easily held Joker up with one hand cradled under his ass, and the other sat perilously on his throat. Joker could feel the prickle of those claws every time he swallowed, and oh how he wanted to see how dangerous Waylon got. The thought of it alone made Joker’s head spin with arousal.

 Waylon pulled away from Joker’s mouth, and teased, “I promise you will not walk right for weeks if you gift me those.”

Waylon licked Joker from shoulder to ear, nipped at the lobe sharply before his hand squeezed Joker’s ass. He softly set Joker down once more as a scaled finger brushed a few green hairs from Joker’s damp forehead.

“Tasty creature,” Waylon said with an odd affection that made Joker’s heckles rise.

Before Joker could make a protest, Waylon’s coarse lips pressed against his forehead reverently, something Joker had rarely ever been on the receiving end of, then moved back into the tunnels leaving Joker cold against the wall.

Joker waited, panting, for Waylon to return. His cock was rock hard again after the display of brutish hunger, and his whole body was alive with throbbing pain from the bruises left behind. It took his over heated brain a few minutes before he realized Waylon wasn’t coming back to finish the job, and Joker had to get moving out of the sewers if he wanted to get warmed up.

Joker spent a few more seconds to gather his wits and calm his heart enough to shift towards the ladder. His hands were lightly shaking, and his pants uncomfortably tight as he climbed out, and muttered about teasing not being funny. He may not return for another good time if this was the state Waylon felt Joker could leave in.

Talk about leaving a guy hanging. Batman never left him unsatisfied like this.

Joker listened at the manhole cover for a few second for any voices, or cars moving around. It was later into the night, and if he guessed right, this should place him in a narrow alleyway off the beaten path. When no sounds were heard, he lifted the cover, and clambered out into the open right.

The breeze of a Gotham night greeted him at the top, and Joker inhaled it, savoring the smell of a city alive even if it sent a cold shiver down his spine. He stretched his arms, and took a glance at himself, regretting it instantly.

The claws may not have cut him deeply, but they left red stains across Joker’s body, as well as, the pipe wall he was held against left filth caked onto him. Joker flicked some of the dry mud from his arms and resisted the temptation to open a fire hydrant to wash himself.

It would only make the chills creeping in worsen.

He dug through a few trash cans before finding a decent, though holed, red sweater to shove over his uniform, shivering when the cold dirt was pressed against his back. He pulled the sleeves down to cover his hands which had started to turn blue at the tips, and it covered the dark bruising around his wrists. He refused to look at his feet which had gone numb again.

Joker kept to the shadows, tucking his head down, and lifting his shoulders in a poor attempt to keep warm, and hide part of his face. The green hair could stick out as well, but with kids these days dying their hair all sorts of colors, it wasn’t suspicious unless they saw Joker’s wide mouth.

Joker giggled to himself, imaging his lips were most likely swollen from the make out session in the sewers, and probably red too. But it was worth it. Even if it got him caught and left him a bit out of sorts with a raging hard on.

It was nearly dawn when Joker came knocking at Oswald’s door looking for shelter, a hot shower, and some decent clothes. Oswald ran a rather nice business for the criminals of Gotham. Each person paid Oswald a fee, and Oswald in turn, kept certain items, clothes, and cash stored away in an underground locker. For an even bigger fee, he could retrieve items from Arkham’s lockup, and smuggle out favorite gadgets from the GCPD.

When three burly guards answered the door, Joker grinned up at them, and they glared back. Joker loved watching as the terror of realization struck them who was standing at the door. It always started with widening of the eyes, then a slackness in the jaw, tension in the shoulders. Joker could practically smell it.

He found himself surprised when they turned their noses away. There were a few seconds of pause before guard one, the one at the handle, froze.

“Mr. Joker?” he asked, puzzled.

“Oh, my _father_ was Mr. Joker. You can just call me Joker,” He answered with a flamboyant bow. The guards stiffened at his display.

Joker realized what had occurred. He was almost turned away because Oswald’s guards mistook him for a homeless person, which the state of Joker’s dress, he could barely fault them for. Covered in filth, blood, bruises, a horrendous sweater, and missing his warm slippers.

But he took note of who gave him dirty looks for when he decided to piss Oswald off later for some reason or another and kill some of his men.

That put a smile on his face.

The guards rudely shut the door in his face when they went to get Oswald. Joker’s smile dropped, and he decided he was going to kill them all. It didn’t matter if Oswald pissed him off later or not. They were all dead.

The next time the door opened, it was Oswald in a silk robe, sleeping trousers, slippers, and a glass of brandy in one hand. He eyed Joker, not moving aside. In fact, he took a step back and partly closed the door.

“Where did you crawl out of?” Oswald rudely asked.

“Arkham and I know I’m paid up,” Joker said through gritted teeth.

“So, you are,” Oswald replied slowly, looking down at the clown, as though reluctant to admit it. “Stay here for now. I will have someone fetch some items for you.”

“Not even going to let a man in need in?” Joker asked, faking a pout.

“You’re not taking one step into my house in that state.”

Joker glowered. “You’re really going to leave me in the cold because you don’t want me tracking in mud?”

“If it was merely mud, I wouldn’t hesitate, but you reek of sewage my fine friend,” Oswald’s nose wrinkled as though to confirm it, and Joker had to hold in his impulse to smell himself. “As it stands, you’re lucky I’m not shutting you out on principle. It will only take a moment for someone to fetch you a robe, you’ll get out of those awful clothes, then we’ll get you in for a much-needed wash.”

Oswald snapped his fingers, and one of his many guards left to pick up the supposed items.

True to his word, Oswald made Joker take off his Arkham uniform, and sweater at the door, to be burned in the back garden per Oswald’s request. Oswald, bless him, didn’t remark on any of the recent marks, or obvious signs of abuse on Joker’s body. He was offered a robe, and house slippers in return. He was then led to the nearest bathroom and left alone to wash up.

Joker slipped off his robe, and finally got a decent look at himself for the first time in months. The scars lacing his visible ribs were the same, as were the few gunshot wounds, shrapnel scars and cuts from nightly battles. The burn across his hip healed nicely, and Joker’s fingers touched it, able to detect the roughness that would most likely stay for the rest of his life.

He then traced the claw marks left by Waylon tonight. They stung, as all fresh wounds do, but they were barely there. The only reason why he could make them out was due to the sheer paleness of Joker’s skin compared to the marks, and Joker doubted they would be visible in the next day or so. Which was a pity. He might have to ask for more permanent marks next time.

He then inspected his neck and shuddered in pleasure as the welts left behind still ached. His neck was peppered with deep purples, blacks, and greens wrapping around like a collar. The tiny pricks from the claws were swollen from the abuse and coated with dry blood. If it weren’t for the cool weather, they would most likely be worse, and Joker almost wished they were.

The bite on the junction between neck and shoulder was the worst. Joker could make out each tooth as the marks started to scab over during his trudge to Oswald’s house. The blood from it dry and cracked, with half of it running down Joker’s back.

His wrists ached when he rotated them, wrapped in matching cuff like bruising, but nothing was broken. Waylon took care, even in his roughness, to make sure nothing broke on Joker. Despite Waylon promising Joker wouldn’t walk correctly next time, Joker was pretty sure he may already have that trouble as his hips, and pelvis were sore, and splotched with discoloration. The soreness would most likely cause him to need a few days to recover. Joker turned and saw the bruising wrapped his hip, and clearly shaped like a hand on his ass.

It made him laugh hard enough his abs hurt, and he’s pretty sure Oswald came banging on the door to tell him to shut up at some point. Still giggling, Joker turned on the water, and stepped in.

The shower warmed every part of his body, as he scrubbed the hospital smell, and muck from the sewers. His wounds from the bite on his neck reopened, spilling fresh blood. Joker knew he’d have to deal with that when he got out. He sniffed at the shampoo, hating its floral scent, but deciding it was better than his current smell. He used just enough to scrub his scalp clean.

He turned his ear to the door when the knob turned. It was just a guard dropping off Joker’s items onto the counter, then quickly retreating. Joker laughed, hearing the man run off, and delighted in the fact that he could scare a trained man while naked and covered in floral soap.

His fingers idly traced over his hip where Waylon held him, the steady throb of ache spreading from it, reminded Joker of encounter. It barely took a few moments before Joker felt his body respond to the reminder, and less time for Joker to react to it.

Privacy in Arkham was scarce. It was almost non-existent for Joker, who had cameras pointing at his cell most of the time, and a giant glass wall for anyone to see him. The dim lights during night was his only chance at a little alone time, and even then, the guard’s rotation rarely allowed Joker enough time to gather his thoughts and enjoy it. Being stuck in there for months was bound to put a little extra strain on Joker.

He closed his eyes, remembering the heat, the pressure, and how much he felt like Waylon wanted to devour him. Joker imagined what their next meeting might be like. Surely better prepared with all the equipment they needed. Joker could be ready for him, prepped and willing to be taken. Or, whispered his darker thoughts, maybe _not_. Perhaps, as a punishment, Arkham might throw him down into the dark cell they keep Waylon in when he’s caught.

Oh, Waylon would be _deadly_ then. No chance for release down there, and poor Joker would just be at his mercy. Waylon could pin him down, bite him, _mark_ him, rut against him until Joker was begging, _pleading,_ he would be so rough, it would _hurt,_ it would be a deep pain tearing him in two as Waylon thrust into him _, used him_ , and Joker would _beg_ for it…

In Joker’s mind the image of Waylon darkened until it showed Batman’s thrilling form in his place.

Joker curled into himself as he came, one hand pressing at his abused hip, the other rubbing himself through the aftershocks. Joker watched his release go down the drain, panting heavily, and legs quivering.

Anger rose, spreading through his chest. He really couldn’t go a few hours without Batman coming into his mind, ruining an otherwise pleasant session. If Batman could so easily forget him whenever the cat came to town, why couldn’t Joker just forget him for a few hours while having a fun time?

Joker wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or punch a wall.

He took his time drying and slowly relaxing his tense muscles. The steam from the shower prevented him from seeing his flushed cheeks in the mirror, and the water weighting his otherwise curly hair down.

Joker shuffled around the vanity and found a basic first aid kit. He patched ups his wounds, sealing the bite from Waylon with the liquid bandage. He preferred to use superglue on something like that, but he wasn’t going to argue. It stopped the bleeding, which was important, and would help prevent infection.

Though Joker was planning on stopping by a doctor’s office sometime this week for antibiotics. He hated infections.

Getting dressed in his outfit always felt like putting on armor. In a way, it was. His sensitive skin was hidden away from the world, covered in layers of green, purple, and orange. He preferred layers because it maintained weight on the clothes, preventing them from shifting as often, and when they did shift, it wasn’t feather light. The softer material of his Arkham uniform drove Joker mad as the light touches hurt worse than being stabbed at times. It was one of the many reasons Joker usually broke out almost as quickly as he was put in.

The thick gloves were the last pieces he put on, finally sealing off feeling from the outside world. He breathed in a sigh of relief, before grinning. For the first time in months, he felt like himself again. His skin no longer prickled with sensitivity, and his body was wrapped in familiar material pressing deliciously against his bruising. It was almost a shame his collar was so high as they covered most of Waylon’s work.

Joker grinned at himself. He knew just the person to help him get back at the bat.


	2. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I wait for the hit count to reach 222 before posting the Harvey Dent chapter? Maaaaaybe...

It took very little effort for Joker to convince Oswald to get him a car to use. After Joker promised he wouldn’t return for at least a few weeks. Oswald gave him a set of keys for an old Honda and his small duffle bag of items prepaid to get whenever he escaped from Arkham.

Joker inspected the bag to make sure nothing was missing. A switch blade, that Joker tucked into his jacket pocket, a small vial of his Joker gas that he loaded into his flower as one never knows when it would be needed, and ten thousand dollars in cash. Joker only needed enough money to get back onto his feet after all, and he certainly didn’t trust Oswald with all of it.

Besides, if he really needed more money, he could always just steal it.

“One last thing before I go, Oswald dear,” Joker said sweetly, making Oswald's lip curl. “Have you seen the Cat around?”

“She left Gotham last night heading to Paris,” he answered without hesitation.

Damn. Well, Joker could always deal with her later. His Bats wouldn't be distracted anymore but he still had to be punished. After all, Joker should be his focus even when certain brunettes make an appearance.

It was mid-morning by the time Joker reached his secured hideout. One of the many abandoned buildings in Gotham’s crime infested neighborhood near the Narrows. Harley had spent a lot of time, and effort, to get the third floor up to her standards. The lower two levels were always left untouched for any wandering street urchins would believe no one lived there.

However, the third floor was very modern, hidden behind a steel door that required a passcode to enter. Any wrong moves there would end up giving the intruder a thousand watts of electric shock and send a warning to anyone inside.

It was clever, and effective.

Joker bounded up the stairs, carrying two giant bags of fast food that he already started eating in the car ride to the hideout. He was already day dreaming of putting together a bomb big enough to blow up a support beam in the Gotham bridge. He’d show up with Harley in tow, both laughing against the world together as the bridge burned to ashes under their feet.

It would be like old times. Something he craved.

He punched in the security code, and kicked open the door with a glorious:

“HONEY! I’M HOME!”

He awaited the cheers, the squealing of Harley as she bound over to him, overcome with joy at his arrival. Perhaps Bud and Lou would even jump on his chest, he would allow it this time, and try to swipe at the food bags. Those little rascals!

Joker didn’t hear anything though. He opened his eyes to a dark room, devoid of anyone. Feeling the wind knocked out of his sails, he flipped the light switch near the door, squinting as they came on. The place looked untouched from the last time Joker was here, and that wasn’t right.

“Bud!” Joker shouted and waited. Nothing. Then, “Lou?”

 When neither animal responded he took off racing to where the hyenas were usually chained to the wall when they were out. He half expected decomposing animals, but nothing was there either. Their beds that Harley insisted on getting them last Christmas, or was that Hanukkah, wrapping them even though the creatures could care less about human traditions, were gone.

Joker saw the missing circles for their food dishes, and extra leashes for walks were gone.

There was only one explanation, Harley took them.

Joker turned to stare at the empty room with the counter tops covered in undisturbed dust, his old balloons were oddly sad being deflated and left to decay on the ground. He knew better than opening the fridge to find any drinks. Whatever was left in there was probably classified as a new species, and Joker wasn’t going to investigate.

Well, this day wasn’t turning out how he expected.

He dropped the bags off at the counter in disgust, before moving into the bedroom. Flicking on a light showed the blankets scattered, unwashed clothing dotting the floor, and the alarm clock blinking on the side table. The dresser at least still had some clean clothes, but they smelled a bit musty. Joker took off his jacket, dropping it on the bed, and went into the master bathroom.

His smile faces drawn in lipstick still decorated the titles, and his makeup was left untouched. The rubber ducks were scattered in the empty tub, along with the silly fish slip stickers, and expensive shampoo Joker loved. He was tempted to take a shower just to smell more like himself, but his stomach rumbled.

He couldn’t wait too much longer before having to eat more. Arkham wasn’t exactly a fine dining establishment, and Joker’s fast metabolism meant he needed a few decent meals in him.

Joker took stock of what was left behind at the sink. He noticed half the counter was cleared, Harley’s half, along with the pink shampoo bottle, and animal shaped body soap which meant Harley took her things with her, wherever she went.

Joker could strangle her! He had such nice plans of blowing up parts of the city, and them having a night out, which Harley always begged him for, and she just left!

He slammed a fist on the sink, rattling the items and stared at himself in the mirror.

The bruising on his neck was visible below his collar, and it was spotted with blood from his bite mark. Cursing, Joker pulled his own medical kit from below the sink out. As much fun as it would be to track Harley down, or try to find his men, his stomach was still nearly empty. He was also bleeding again, and his body was bruised. He had to at least cover some parts up now that he had the option.

If Joker decided to play with others this week, having them think he was fooling around would send the wrong message. He didn’t particularity care what others thought but he didn’t need the rumors getting back to Batman’s pointed ears. He giggled to himself as he removed his vest and shirt.

Covering bruising, and wounds were old hat to him. He finally had his super glue and glued shut the bite wounds that threatened to reopen when he moved too quickly. Waylon certainly wasn’t going easy on the clown, not that Joker would have asked for easy, and the cover up took a decent amount of airbrushing.

Joker learned the hard way that grease or alcohol-based makeup ran in tough conditions. Airbrush makeup tended to stay on all day for him, if he set it, and put a sealer. Harley had showed him how to set his makeup and use the airbrush machine while he taught her the secret to covering bruises. When asked, Joker would always pretend to have learned it in a magazine.

He wished that were true.

After double checking his work, then removing his pants to cover the lower bruises, the one on his ass being particularly difficult as it required him to twist to do it, he got dressed in a modest outfit. A simple pair of dark slacks, matching vest with flower, green long-sleeved shirt, and sunglasses. He eyed his gloves and decided to go with the thin leather ones with the worn stitching. 

He looked around the empty hideout once more, taking note of his missing guns, but that his stash of money was left short fifty thousand. He would have to have a very _long_ talk with Harley when he saw her again.

He wrung his hands together, glancing at the bags of cooling fast food, then at the bare place. It was quiet, and dusty, and Joker hated it. He sighed, gathered up the bags and the keys to his borrowed car.

Thirty minutes, and a stop to buy two bottles of expensive wine later, Joker knocked on an apartment door 22, on the second floor of building two. He lowered his eyes to watch the light from the bottom of the door frame as it was slowly blocked by a figure nearing the door. He grinned and stuck his face close to the peep hole.

“Come on Harv! I know you’re in there,” Joker teased. The shadow moved away from the door, and Joker lifted a wine bottle. “I brought the good alcohol this time” then the fast food bag. “And burgers!”

He waited for a few seconds, but Harvey didn’t answer. The shadow moved away from the door and Joker gritted his teeth. He was trying to be nice this time, after all, Harvey was seeking to rejoin society. Joker had very strong opinions on the subject, first off, why would anyone want to join society, and second, sanity was highly over rated. Nothing but pain and misery come from being sane.

He pounded on the door growing frustrated, but the shadow didn’t return. Joker was contemplating on using his lock picks if Harvey refused to open the door, and deal with the chain lock after he got a foot in when Harvey’s neighbor from across the way came out.

“Hey man, if he’s not answering you should just go. Some of us work night shifts,” the average man commented, his voice slightly slurred from just waking up, and hair tussled.

Joker slowly stopped, then turned. He narrowed his eyes, looking the neighbor up and down with an unimpressed expression, then Joker got closer to Harvey’s door.

“If you don’t let me inside right this moment, I swear I will gut your neighbor and write your name in his blood,” Joker threatened, already eyeing the decorative dog statue the idiot had outside his door to use as a bludgeoning tool.

Seriously, who buys stupid things like that?

The neighbor gaped at Joker, his eyes going to Joker’s face, then down his colorful outfit, the bags of food, returning to Joker’s face, and finally widening when he realized exactly who just threatening him. Joker watched in vague amusement as the man stumbled back, too shocked to have the sense to get back into his apartment, even though that wouldn’t save him if Joker was after his blood. But who was he to say no to a chase.

He heard the tale tell flip of a coin then the door behind Joker violently swung open.

“Get inside,” Harvey groused.

“In a moment,” Joker said, shoving his bags and wine into Harvey’s arms. He grinned at the idiot neighbor, grabbing the man by his sleep shirt, and pulling him up onto his toes. Joker’s other hand covered the man’s mouth, knowing he was a screamer by sight. The muffled yelling confirmed it.

“Joker,” Harvey warned but didn’t move to stop the clown.

“Hush you, daddy’s talking” Joker said to Harvey, then glared at the man, making eye contact so there was no mistake who Joker was addressing this time. “If I see a single cop, security officer, or stripper in a cop uniform, I want you to imagine this… you, me, a potato peeler, and just our imaginations. I could just entertain myself for hours upon hours with that thought, can’t you?”

The man was sobbing now behind Joker’s hand. Joker pushed his against the wall to free his hand on the neighbor’s shirt. He used it to pet the man’s face and make shushing sounds.

“But we won’t have to do that because you’re going to go back into your apartment, and pretend I was never here, right?” Joker’s grin was barely concealed under his fake concern.

The idiot frantically nodded, his eyes prickling with tears. There was a sprinkling sound, and Joker looked down to see the man had wet himself. Joker curled his nose and he heard Harvey sigh.

“Yeesh,” Joker muttered, but his grin became impossibly wide at the sheer joy of scaring a man, manhandling the idiot back into his apartment. “And keep it down in there. I hear people work the night shift in this building.”

Joker slammed the door shut on the neighbor cackling wildly, before being dragged into Harvey’s apartment. Harvey dropped the bags on his counter, and Joker noticed placed the wine down carefully. Harvey turned to Joker, and Joker noticed the odd sleekness of Harvey’s better half.

Joker’s lips curled. It was a half mask meant to make Harvey look normal, unless you were looking for it, and Joker was. It hid the burns, and scars, which gave Harvey his charm, and Joker hated it immediately, but before he could comment on it, Harvey was crowding his space in anger.

“You’re going to get me arrested and put back into Arkham,” Harvey’s tone was lowered, though not nearly as gritty when he’s Two-Face. “Or is that your plan? Screw up my shot at normalcy?”

“Oh Harv, you’re my _friend_. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m sure the pants wetter will stay quiet,” Joker patted his shoulder and taking a glance around the place. Bare white walls, second hand loveseat, a TV with rabbit ears, and peach carpeting. The kitchen was barely a few counters, an undersized stove with two burners, and a stock beige fridge which almost made Joker cringe at. At least the counter top was clean. “Nice place… if it were 1981.”

“Laugh it up,” Harvey shrugged Joker’s hand off then shuffled through his kitchen, pulling out two coffee mugs and a corkscrew. He uncorked the white wine, sniffing the contents before pouring. “You try getting an apartment through legit means with having several felonies, and no credit.”

“I thought you were in a half-way house,” Joker accepted his wine mug, and dug out a burger from the bag. “Now that I know you’re actually paying for this place, I feel I am owed the right to insult it.”

Harvey glared but didn’t say anything in return. He just downed his wine, smacked his lips, and poured some more. Joker took it as a win.

They sorted out the food, discovering it had grown cold in Joker’s trip over. They each grimaced while eating it cold, Harvey didn’t have a microwave and refused to turn on the stove. They spent their evening sipping wine out of coffee mugs on the loveseat, their knees knocking into each other. When they finished their food, they brought the wine bottle to the loveseat, and kept pouring while chatting.

“Waylon? Really?” asked Harvey, his good side smirking, the half mask staying blank. “I thought he would have just eaten you.”

“Me too!” Joker exclaimed, feeling pleasantly tingling from the wine. “When his claws dug into my throat, I was sure he’d either eat me, or I’d have to do some really fast talking to escape.”

Joker pulled his legs up and spread them across Harvey’s. Harvey was so content, he allowed the contact, and rested his own arms on Joker’s legs.

“So, what? You offered to let him hump you?” Harvey asked, his body relaxing into the corner of the seat.

Joker snorted at the reply.

“I worked my magic, and he just couldn’t resist me,” Joker fluttered his eyelashes. “After all, I’m quite the catch!”

“The more likely scenario is you heavily suggested it, and he’s a man with limited options,” Harvey snapped back, taking a drink of his wine afterwards to cover his laugh.

Joker threw his head back in laughter nearly spilling his drink. There was a short list of people allowed to make comments like that to his face. Harvey was lucky enough to be on it, but the list was flexible, so Harvey timed his remarks. Joker liked Harvey since he wasn’t a moron like most of the rogue’s gallery or talked on end about how very clever he was.

“Well, to-may-to, to-mah-to,” Joker replied, handwaving it.

“I take it Arkham wasn’t nearly as welcoming this time around,” Harvey edged, watching Joker for any hostility. Arkham was a sore subject for most people.

“Same old Arkham. Box full of idiots, crazies, and patients,” Joker said with a smirk, holding up his cup to cheer. Harvey clinked their mugs together.

They ran out of the white wine, nursing their respective mugs, both deciding to leave the red wine for later. The conversation had stayed safe, a few topics each were barely interested in, when Joker grew silent. Harvey waited patiently for Joker to speak again, or perhaps was glad for the momentary quiet.

 “Harv, can I get your advice?” Joker asked, his fingers drumming against his empty mug.

“I swear if you ask me about becoming mayor again just to steal campaign money—”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Joker giggled then cleared his throat. “I’m having issues of the relationship kind.”

Harvey took a sip of his wine as though to steel himself for whatever Joker was going to say. Then, he waved his hand for Joker to continue.

“Have you ever had someone who just completes you in every way, and when you think you’re both on the same page then _POW_!” Joker made a punching motion, nearly flinging the mug from his hand. “He starts seeing other people behind your back, and you’re no longer the most important villain. Now you’re just wondering if you’re crazy for thinking it meant anything, or if you should trust your instincts and try to win him back.”

Harvey let out a deep sigh, leaning forward to take the mug from Joker, and placing it on the shoddy cardboard box posing as a coffee table. He then grabbed Joker’s hand, squeezing it in a friendly manner.

“Listen Joker,” Harvey started, his words slow. “You’ve got good qualities. Sure, you kill people for sport which most people find appalling, and you’re obnoxious as hell—”

“This better end well.”

“—but you’re a catch,” Harvey continued undeterred. “There’s not a lot of people in this world who can get under Batman’s skin like you. If for nothing else, keep pursuing him so he leaves the rest of us alone.”

“Gee thanks,” Joker deadpanned, ripping his hand away from Harvey, feeling worse. “Really makes a girl feel special when you say it like that.”

Harvey had the gull to laugh. Joker grumbled, thinking about breaking the coffee mug over Harvey’s good side. That would teach the man to laugh at him, but Harvey stopped to level Joker with a genuine smile. They locked eyes, and Joker waited.

“I mean this sincerely Joker when I say I think you are a catch,” Harvey said, his warm hand clasping onto Joker’s shoulder. “You’re a charismatic, driven, and smart man. There’s a reason you get to be on my couch.”

Joker grinned. “It’s because your coin came up heads.”

“My coin did come up heads,” Harvey nodded, seriously. “It usually does for you. I think lady luck likes you more than most.”

“Apparently she’s a jealous bitch because all my relationships end up going south,” Joker said then smacked his head on the padding of the couch. All the talk was upsetting Joker’s stomach, and an ache started in his chest. “Between Batman being distracted by cats, and Harley pulling a disappearing act _with half my money mind you_ , I’m afraid I have no luck when it comes to love. I suppose it’s poetic justice for me to become a sad clown.”

 Harvey’s eyes were unfocused, and his grip a little too tight, but Joker allowed the man to pull him in. There was a vague glee at wondering where this particular venture would go, when Joker found his face smashed uncomfortably against Harvey’s chest. Arms wrapped around him, and Joker’s body ached at the odd angle he was being held in.

“Batman doesn’t deserve you,” Harvey said, his voice dropping in pitch, his arms tightening. “He doesn’t understand men like us, and why we have to seek our own justice.”

Joker pulled back with a large Cheshire smile. “Oh, I didn’t know _you_ were going to join us this evening.”

Gone where the softer emotions from Harvey, and the self-conscious tilt of his head to try to hide the burns from peeking behind his mask. His eyes were razor sharp, and he held his shoulders stiff, commanding. The man in front of Joker was Two-Face, big bad Harv, and Joker practically shivered in delight at his appearance.

 “It’s been awhile since we’ve had a chat,” Two-Face practically purred, one hand going to Joker’s thigh, the other to the back of the loveseat. Familiar, but not too forward.

“I hope you have better advice than Harvey,” Joker said with a hopeful lit to his voice. “Afterall, of the two of you, you’ve always understood my side of things.”

Two-Face tipped his head in acknowledgement.

“That’s because I have the will to get things done, the way they need to be done. Harvey keeps relying on people to do things for him,” Two-Face idly stroked at Joker’s thigh, his stare intense. “ _We_ know better.”

 “I like a man who does his own dirty work,” Joker replied with a smirk, sitting up so he could hook a leg over Two-Face’s, straddling the man.

Two-Face made no moves to push him away, instead placing both his hands-on Joker’s thighs. Joker wrapped his arms around Two-Face’s shoulders to keep himself steady on the small loveseat, and to enjoy the warmth Two-Face provided. Though, he wished Two-Face would remove the half mask. Being this close to his face with it was disconcerting.

“Tell me why you are interested in the Bat.” Two-Face said. It wasn’t a question.

“What’s not to be interested in?” Joker laughed, sinking onto Two-Face’s thighs. “He’s big, strong, hellishly smart.”

“No,” Two-Face said, frowning. “What does he mean to you.”

“He’s just…”

Joker trailed off in thought, pondering what Batman meant to him. He knew, of course, but how does one express something so powerful to another? Words felt cheap, and unworthy in the face of everything. It was a drive, a connection, they were two threads in the same stitch. Alike, and unalike. The balance to everything.

Two-Face was silent, his thumbs stroking Joker in soothing patterns while he awaited the clown to gather his thoughts.

“I can kill everyone in this world, and I wouldn’t lose a single spring in my step,” Joker began, staring off at the wall. It was difficult to say aloud, knowing it would make it real. Joker hated real. “The world is uneven chaos, and everyone walks through it as though their lives make sense! But, it doesn’t. Because, they don’t matter. Your life could end by being hit with a bus, or sickness, losing your job could end with you on the street dead in an alley, or I could put a bullet through your skull but everyone else would continue. The world spins, babies are born, yadda-yadda. Your life doesn’t matter… no one’s does. That’s what’s so funny to me.”

Joker smiled softly.

“But Batman stops me. He uses that massive brain to figure out my plans, to understand me, and he pulls it apart piece by piece. When my gun points at someone, he stands between me and them. He _stops_ me. Where I create chaos, laugh at those who attempt order, he is order personified, stern and disciplined. He is all that stands in the way between the world, and my gun. I need him to do that. I need him to put order in my life, just as he needs me to put chaos into his.”

“You need him to give you boundaries,” Two-Face responded.

Joker tossed that around in his head, and it was close. Close enough for this conversation anyways, so he nodded.

“What about after he stops your gun?” Two-Face questioned then pressed of his thumb into the sensitive area of Joker’s thigh. Joker squirmed, pleased.

“He punishes me,” Joker groaned, feeling his cock twitch in interest as Two-Face’s hands slid up, and near his groin but not on it. Not yet. But the heat seeped through his pants, and Joker was tempted to replace the hands where he wanted them the most.

“Tell me how he punishes you.” Two-Face practically purred.

“His fists usually. Beats me until I bleed. Until I can’t move anymore, or I give up under him. Ties me up in cuffs sometimes, but I get out of those quickly, so he binds me in ropes now,” Joker giggled, a fond expression on his face. “He’s really good at the ropes.”

“You kill people, commit atrocities, to make Batman punish you,” Two-Face eyed Joker as though attempting to figure him out.

Now there was a thought. There was more to Batman and his relationship, but Two-Face wouldn’t understand. He only understood the system, checks and balances. The submissive and the dominate. Two-Face saw Harvey as the submissive person because he gave into others, while he saw himself as the dominate one because he over powered people. There was so much more to the world than those two dynamics.

But it would do for now and gave Joker a wonderful idea.

 “If I commit crimes, I ought to be punished, right _District Attorney_?” Joker coyly said. He felt the shiver go through Two-Face’s body at the phrase, and the giddiness, the anticipation of what was to come, gathered in the pit of Joker’s stomach making him want to burst out giggling.

“Justice is important. It binds us to reason,” Two-Face rumbled his hands tightening on Joker’s thighs. “When a crime is committed, punishment must be served. Batman is your safety net, your justice system. What do you do when the system abandons you?”

“Find a new one,” Joker responded, grinding his hips into Two-Face’s finding him to be just as hard as Joker.

“What is your safe phrase Joker?” Two-Face demanded, like every time before they got together.

 “Lex Luthor is sexy,” Joker said with a wicked grin.

 “Get to the bedroom. We’ll go over your crimes and see what the coin has in store for you,” Two-Face, and Joker practically ran to the back bedroom with Two-Face hot on his heels.

Sex with Two-Face was different than sex with Harvey. With Harvey it was soft, and mostly boring. Two-Face is the opposite. He’s brutal, commanding, a complete Dom in the bedroom who cares for punishment, and reward system. Justice.

Joker loved allowing Two-Face to think he was in control. It was almost more pleasing than pissing the man off, which was too much fun to resist tonight. Joker ripped the mask off Two-Face, revealing the burnt skin below.

Much better than that doll face.

For that, Joker was smacked across the face without warning, splitting his lip instantly, and sending pleasure straight to his groin.

Joker kneeled on the peach carpet in nothing but his skin. Two-Face made him remove every stitch of clothing, so he would be laid bare before the ‘court’. Joker watched as Two-Face pulled out an almost endless supply of rope, the real bondage rope used by people who didn’t go to mall stores for their kink play. Two-Face spent their first twenty minutes in the bedroom, tying Joker up with complex knots to restrain him, claiming to keep the court safe.

Joker watched, seeing a new knot being worked over his hips. Two-Face noticed his interest, and slowed his work, allowing Joker to make it out. For all Two-Face’s bravado, he always took the time to make sure Joker was comfortable, checking the knots for areas being too loose, or too tight.

Joker merely grinned, loving the feeling of ropes tied around his body, and pleased he got what he wanted. Glad he covered his bruising or else Two-Face would have gone easy with the ties around his shoulders. They dug into his skin pleasantly, keeping the low-level ache Joker craved. Two-Face also kept his half mask removed as well, and Joker believed they were equally bare now and was content to keep up the act.

Once done with the binding, Two-Face listed out Joker’s crimes, the most recent ones from the last six months, and asked how Joker pleaded. He strutted around the room as though preaching to a real court room filled with juries, a judge, and witnesses, instead of just the two of them. Joker loved to watch Two-Face in his element.

A little imagination went a long way.

Now, Joker had to decide how he wanted to plead. Insanity never worked with Two-Face, and Joker liked it that way. Pleading Guilty would end the scenario quickly, going straight to punishment without any of the building tension. The foreplay of their act. There was only one choice to make.

Joker plead innocent and grinned as Two-Face began to pick his defense apart.

The coin was their judge, and Joker shivered whenever it was tossed. The coin was the evening factor. On good nights, Joker could argue out his crimes to make himself appear innocent, but the coin could favor a different outcome. On other nights, Joker would mock Two-Face, grin at his crimes, and make outlandish claims easily proven false. The coin could declare him innocent still.

The defending and accusing were purely for their benefit, and to keep the tension between them until the end where Joker would either be punished or rewarded. Joker could barely wait for the end and made sure he mocked his own defense to speed things along.

 “It wasn’t me your honor,” Joker said attempting to stifle his laughter. “It was a one-armed man.”

“Is that your final defense against killing three people in Arkham the same day as your escape?” Two-Face inquired, his eyes burning, and his fingers flexing.

“Oh no. I was talking about the escape,” Joker’s grin was on full display. “Those people were dead when I got there.”

Two-Face made that smug face he always did when he was District Attorney, when he knew he had a defendant pinned. He took three steps towards Joker, forcing Joker to look up at him from his position on the carpet.

“We would like to submit our evidence to the court, of video footage from Arkham during the attack showing the defendant clearly there before, during, and after the killings,” Two-Face said calmly. Then, he kneeled close to Joker, eyeing him hungrily. “Would you like to rephrase your answer?”

“I believe I will wait for the judge to decide the evidence,” Joker said, lowering his voice, waiting for the punishment.

Two-Face pulled out his coin and flipped it without his eyes leaving Joker. They held their breath and looked.

Tails.

Joker closed his eyes, titling his head back, and barely restraining himself from squirming. He felt Two-Face’s hand grab his hair tight, and the man got closer.

“Guilty,” Two-Face hissed, and the punishment began.

Two-Face took to heart what Joker said about how Batman would punish him, when Joker felt a solid fist land across his jaw, pain bursting across his face, and the force pulling him against the hand in his hair. His eyes prickled with tears from body reactions alone, not because Joker wasn’t enjoying it.

Oh, he was.

Joker bit, moved, kicked, and wriggled as best as he could, restraining himself from undoing the ropes which he could do given a few minutes and motivation. He only put up a fight to make Two-Face angry, and when he was angry, he was rougher, and his voice became deeper. It was like Batman’s after a night of fighting, and that alone made Joker moan.

Two-Face struck him a few times with his fists, avoiding the face this time. They both knew from fighting experience; the face was the hardest place to hit without damaging yourself. The ribs and stomach were much safer and bruised so prettily. Joker was going to be a bouquet by the end, if the sweat gathering on Two-Face’s brow from exertion, and pain throbbing across Joker’s torso were any indicators.

Two-Face finally threw Joker on the floor, still tied up, on his stomach. Two-Face shuffled around in one of his drawers, giving Joker time to catch his breath, and relax on the carpet. Joker wriggled his hands, and feet, making sure nothing was cut off from circulation. Nothing was numb, as he expected. Two-Face was never sloppy in his bondage.

Joker heard Two-Face’s return and shivered with anticipation. Joker felt the hard wood of a paddle as it caressed across his backside as precum from his straining erection leaked into the terrible peach carpet below. He glanced back to see the word ‘GUILTY’ engraved backwards on the paddle, meaning he was going to have welts of the word on his ass when this was done. Joker grinned as Two-Face grabbed his hips, and positioned him, his ass displayed, and ready for whatever was the come.

“You’re going to get ten strikes for each life you took in Arkham on Sunday,” Two-Face said, that paddle still circling. Joker only had a moment to breath, enough time to say his phrase, but he wiggled his ass instead.

“I accept my punishment,” Joker said.

He heard the paddle making contact a fraction of a second before he felt it. The first strike fell like a sting across his left cheek blossoming and bursting up his spine making Joker whimper in pleasure. Two-Face’s muscles weren’t just for show, and his paddle wasn’t cheap.

The second landed exactly where the first did and was just as glorious. The smacks increased in speed and strength. Two-Face was ensuring the impression of GUILTY was going to be read from a distance, and Joker couldn't hold in his yelps.

When Two-Face reached ten strikes, he switched his concentration. He stood up, panted lightly, his hand grazing the abused area. Joker hissed, squirming away from the softer touch as his nerves shot unpleasant pain through his body. Two-Face pressed harder, and Joker relaxed as the nerves no longer burned with gentleness but throbbed in pressure.

Two-Face trapped the paddle against Joker's untouched cheek. It was time for the second round of punishment with the paddle, and Two-Face gave him a few seconds to make a request or ask for a reprieve. Joker was impatient.

“Are you too tired to continue, Mr. Prosecutor?” Joker taunted.

The reaction was immediate. Two-Face’s shoe pressed on the back of Joker’s neck, pressing hard enough to shove Joker’s face into the carpet. The edges of the hard shoe pinched at Joker’s skin, and the growing weight on his neck made breathing difficult, leaving him wheezing.

“That was rude of you,” Two-Face said with command in his tone. “Apologize.”

Joker could already feel his brain start to go fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, and the blood still pooling into his groin. His throat was already burning, as he hadn’t recovered from Waylon’s assault on it, and Two-Face wasn’t playing easy tonight. The shoe pressed harder, Joker’s throat threatened to close on him completely, and Joker could feel his erection grow harder.

“S-sorry,” Joker whispered, the word deformed.

Two-Face didn’t remove his shoe at once, but slowly. The blood rushed to Joker’s head, and he had to fight to stay upright, to not slump over. He choked as his lungs filled with air, and his head spun. He felt the high of oxygen deprivation and groaned in satisfaction. Two-Face barely allowed him any time to recover, the first strike hitting Joker on his ass, stinging the other side.  

The next smack came swiftly, and strong. Joker yelped in pain but was grinning widely. Joker moaned at the next as these strikes were coming faster than the first set. His head was swimming still from being choked, and the added pain was making it difficult for him not to cum. Joker enjoyed the sting, and then the deep-seated pain that was only caused by multiple hits. When the nerves were already lit up, and sore.

It made Joker cry out as Two-Face increased his strikes, and Joker felt the rising pleasure in his core, fighting against an orgasm. That would only make Two-Face quit their game early, and Joker didn’t want that. He bit his lip, sucking on the blood as a distraction.

Two-Face paused again after his set was done and before the third. Joker was left gasping and whimpering on the floor, grateful for the break to control his arousal. Two-Face put the paddle down on the bed, just within Joker's eye line and unbuttoned his shirt. Joker was practically drooling at the sight of Two-Face rolling up his sleeves, displaying his muscular forearms.

“Head down,” Two-Face ordered, one hand gripping the back of Joker's bruised neck and forcing him. When he saw Joker stay where he was placed, he retrieved the paddle.

The third set was across Joker's thighs, which were already burning from holding the position for so long.

On the thirtieth hit, Two-Face gave him something special. He stepped to the side, aimed his paddle, and hit at the right angle to strike Joker’s balls as well. Joker wailed as the pain shot through him like a bolt, making him collapse on the carpet, gasping for air. He began giggling, his lungs burning, and saw spots dance in front of his eyes.

Two-Face gave him a few moments to collect himself, then turned Joker over onto his back, causing all the welts growing from the hits to ache. Joker sucked in his breath through his teeth.

“You’re almost done with your punishment, Joker,” Two-Face growled, one hand unzipping his fly. He tossed his paddle on the floor, letting Joker feel how warm it was from striking him.

Joker was still gathering his breath and watched with rapt attention when Two-Face pulled out his hard cock from his pants and started stroking it. He licked his dry lips as he watched, wondering if Two-Face would allow him to taste it.

“My cock would be a reward for you,” Two-Face said, pulling out his coin with one hand, while continuing to stroke himself. “Let’s see if you deserve it.”

Heads.

Two-Face strode towards Joker and pulled him up by the ropes, putting his face right near his cock. Joker didn’t wait for instructions as he started licking at the reward he was given, grinning as Two-Face moaned.

“Fuck, you’re amazing at this,” Two-Face moaned, his hand fisting into Joker’s hair.

Joker enjoyed making Two-Face lose control of himself, hearing the explicit language drop from the man’s lips that would never cross Harvey’s shy mouth. He wasn’t even bothered by his cut reopening, tasting copper mixed with Two-Face’s skin. His jaw ached from the earlier hits, adding little sparks of bliss to travel down to Joker’s straining cock, making him almost break the illusion of Two-Face’s control by undoing the ropes, and stroking himself.

It was tempting. _Very_ tempting.

It wasn’t long before Two-Face was thrusting into Joker’s hot mouth and shouting at his release. Joker blocked his throat, preventing himself from swallowing. He hated swallowing as it made his throat feel itchy the next day. Instead, he held it, and waited for Two-Face to help him dispose of it like always.

“You’re cute when you can’t speak,” Two-Face commented, making Joker pout. He chuckled at the clown, a finger poking at his cheek. “I’ll get you something for that.”

Two-Face grabbed a wash towel from the bathroom and allowed Joker to spit into it, wiping his mouth for him. Joker swirled his tongue around, not minding the little bit left behind, and waited for his actual reward. He was surprised when Two-Face tucked his cock back into his pants, zipped up, and walked out of the bedroom, leaving a very hard, still tied up Joker, on his bedroom floor.

Joker bit his lip, tasting his blood, not wanting to be left hanging if Two-Face saw his protest as needing another punishment. That happened some nights when Joker was restless, but tonight he was just tired. Despite his seemingly endless supply of enthusiasm, Joker couldn’t go without sleep forever, as he was already at just over thirty hours without sleep. It gave him the patience to wait. So, instead of complaining he stayed on the floor, grinding his hard cock into the carpet, his eyes fluttering at the sensation. He paused when he heard Two-Face return, with the red wine opened in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.

“For your last reward, you have to do something,” Two-Face explained, taking a swig of the wine straight from the bottle. “Get yourself out of those ropes before I finish this cigarette, and I’ll let you cum.”

Joker’s eyes widen, watching Two-Face lean against his dresser, lighting his cigarette with already shaky hands, and sipping at his red wine. The same red wine Joker had laced with strong sedatives on the chance that Harvey would wait for Joker to fall asleep then call the cops on him.

It always paid to be cautious in their line of business, and despite Joker calling Harvey a friend earlier, that didn’t mean he expected the other man to be trustworthy. That was when people stabbed you in the back, and Joker couldn’t afford that today. Not after the day he just had.

Joker hoped that Two-Face’s shake were just from his orgasm because these ropes were knotted excellently, and Joker’s body wasn’t in the best of shape. This was going to take him a few minutes. He really wanted to get off.

“I hope you savor that wine,” Joker groused, already pulling at the ropes on his wrists. “It’s expensive.”

For that, Two-Face looked him dead in the eye, and took a gulp.

Joker clenched his teeth and worked harder. Two-Face was excellent as binding and restraints. It was one of the reasons why Joker was so good at escaping them. During their time together in Arkham, or outside like this, Two-Face would usually demand Joker get out of the restraints. He was usually kind enough to get Joker off first, but apparently the Batman talk about punishment put Two-Face into a bit of a mood.

Joker got one wrist free before Two-Face was half way through his cigarette, but the wine was already affecting him. Joker saw the way his eyes started to blink slower, his leaning become more pronounced, and Joker rushed to undo his bindings, his heart pounding.

He did not want to have to masturbate again when there was a perfectly good person with two hands, and a mouth available. He stopped looking frantically at Two-Face and concentrated on his ropes. The new knot was taking the longest, Joker cursing violently under his breath as he had to partially retie it to understand how to get it all undone.

He scrambled, sweating, and his cock almost completely flagging at how much he had to think. He nearly fist pumped in triumph when he threw the bindings off, the rope laying inert against his skin, and panted. He beat his own personal best with that one.

He looked up at Two-Face and cursed. Two-face’s eyes were half-closed, the cigarette limp in his fingers. Joker’s voice pulled Two-Face from his near slumber, making the man drunkenly smirk at him.

“It’s time for your reward,” Two-Face heavily slurred, Joker barely making out the words.

Two-Face put the bottle down, it tipped over immediately spilling across the floor, and he stumbled towards Joker. Joker watched in anguish as Two-Face collapsed. He landed a few inches from Joker, and snoring before his body stopped moving from the fall.

Joker grabbed a pillow, smothered his face in it and screamed.

For the first time, he really wished he’d just dealt with the back stabbing, as he mournfully grabbed his cock. All that build up, the talk of punishment, and Joker practically spilling his whole reason for being, to be left alone with his own hand.

Joker stared at the ceiling above him, at the peeling paint, and faded water stains, as he brought himself to an unsatisfying orgasm. He ruefully kicked Two-Face’s body, got up hissing in pain as the welts on his ass and thighs stung.

He turned on the light in the dingy bathroom and twisted his body around to look at the damage done. The word GUILTY was easily seen on each cheek, and across his thighs. The word was broken up, half the word on each thigh, and Joker laughed aloud at how perfect that was for Two-Face to do. He took note that Two-Face was careful enough not to split the skin, but Joker wasn’t going to be sitting comfortably for the next week. He also had a decent rug burn across both knees.

He cleaned himself up with a wash cloth, soothed his abused skin, and went into the kitchen, sneering as he passed Two-Face’s passed out form on the floor. He opened the freezer to find a bag of frozen vegetables, and an ice pack. Joker took both, wrapping the ice pack in a towel. He brought them, and the remaining bag of fast food to the loveseat. He turned on the TV to watch mid afternoon soap operas through the fuzzy reception.

He sat on a bag of frozen peas for half an hour to soothe the swelling on his rear end, the ice pack to his sore jaw, and finished off the fast food. He also learned that most soap operas could be solved if the people just killed more, though the wife shooting her cheating husband made him laugh. Served him right!

Joker returned the ice pack and frozen vegetables to the freezer, feeling more amused that Harvey wouldn’t know Joker’s bare ass was sitting on them when he finally went to eat them. With nothing else to do, Joker plopped down on the bed, kicking Two-Face a few times for good measure, and went to sleep.

Two-Face didn’t stir the whole time.


	3. Tuesday

There are times when Joker can sleep like the dead. Usually when he’s been completely wrung out through a night with Batman, or after an escape from Arkham that was particularly trying on his body. This was the latter. He only woke up because someone kicked him in the ribs.

“You fucking asshole!” Harvey shouted, his voice still slurred.

Joker flung himself out of the bed as the adrenaline from being hit woke him up ready to fight. The room was small enough that Joker’s back was pressed against the wall instantly as he observed the scene.

Harvey was awake. Check. He was super pissed. Double check. He was holding the bottle of wine in one hand and clenching his fist in another. Uh oh.

“You drugged me!” Harvey accused, throwing the wine bottle at Joker’s head, who moved just in time to feel the glass scatter on the wall right where his head used to be.

Joker held up his hands in surrender.

“Harvey, have you thought maybe your tolerance was getting a little low?” Joker questioned, his grin growing. “Why do you have to blame me if you can’t take alcohol like you could in your university days?”

Harvey dove over the bed, his hands aiming for Joker’s throat. Joker moved out of reach, grabbing the end of a rope with one hand, his slacks in another, then ducked out of the room. He quickly wrapped the rope around the door handle, holding it still as Harvey yanked on it to give chase. Joker tied the bedroom door handle to the closet handle, pulling it taut, before racing to the living room.

Joker was giggling madly the whole time. He could feel the wine dripping down his bare back, and the tiny cuts the shattered glass left all over him. Some were stinging from wine dipping into them, and others were wet from blood.

This was turning out to be quite the day.

Joker pulled on his slacks, carefully tucking himself into them since he didn’t get a chance to grab his briefs. He pulled his keys from his pocket, mournful of leaving his good shirt and vest trapped with Harvey, when Harvey body slammed his way out of the bedroom.

“Well, it’s been fun!” Joker cackled, already one foot out the front door. “Don’t forget to call!”

Joker slammed the door and whistled as he headed towards the parking lot where his borrowed car awaited. He almost rounded the corner when he saw the blinking of red and blue lights from cop cars below. Cursing, he ducked back, and listened.

They were coming Joker’s way, up the stairs, and probably called by Harvey himself. The man really was a sourpuss.

Joker weighed his options. He left in a hurry, so he didn’t have his shoes, shirt, vest, or knives that were hidden in said vest. He could still take on the cops, but it was riskier than he liked now, being half asleep, and bruised. His other option was to jump from the second story, with luck land on the grass to help break his fall and get to his car quickly without the cops seeing him.

Third option.

Joker went to the neighbor’s door who had soiled himself, and Joker politely knocked. The foolish man opened the door, and Joker pushed inside, shutting the door quietly just as the cops rounded the stairs.

“Keep quiet or I’ll find a peeler,” Joker hissed to the man who was already shrinking back in terror, then looked through the peephole.

He saw four cops approaching Harvey’s door, which meant they all came up to investigate. That was good odds for Joker at least. He turned around, ignoring the whimpering man, and went to the back window to look out at the parking lot. He could see the flashing lights, but not the cars from here.

Joker opened the window, sliding one leg out, then turning back to the neighbor.

“When they knock on your door, tell them I went the other way,” Joker instructed, pointing out the window on the other corner. “And I said there was a bomb in the building.”

Before the man could confirm he heard or not, Joker jumped out the second story into some very unfortunate bushes that left him scratched up. Joker brushed the leaves from his body, picked the twig that dug its way into his foot out, then headed towards his car.

It took only a few minutes before more cop cars came, most likely responding to Joker’s fake bomb threat. Joker drove out of the apartment area calmly, knowing they weren’t looking for him to be driving away yet.

He was tempted to come back with a bomb to blow the place sky high just for the insult. Joker hated having to escape by jumping into bushes. They always tore his skin, and he found splinters days later that bothered him. Not to mention he hated plants on a general principle due to Poison Ivy.

Speaking of the potted plant, and she appears.

Joker pulled into his hideout, and instantly recognized the convertible that Harley and Ivy liked to drive when they went out together. It was pulled into the building where Joker normally parked his own car.

Joker grumbled, debating on ramming his car into theirs just to break something, but he wanted his borrowed car to keep running. It was his only ticket around town unless he wanted to steal another car. Which, he could do, but he at least wanted to hide from the Bat if he could, until he was good and ready for him.

Instead, Joker parked his car nearby, and did what any grown adult would do. He opened their gas tank and cut the brakes. If he was feeling generous, he may even tell them he did it before they died in a terrible car crash.

He wrinkled his nose at the sounds of the two women giggling from the other side of the door. First thing after killing these two, he was going to change the combination to the hideout. No more side kicks for Joker. He didn’t need this headache.

“PUDDIN’!” Harley squealed in joy when Joker slammed open the door, throwing her Gotham Times magazine with that handsome playboy Bruce Wayne on the cover aside. “Ya got out of Arkham!”

Harley’s excited greetings at seeing Joker almost made him regret his next words. Almost.

“Don’t you dare Puddin’ me!” Joker snarled, shutting the door behind him and stalking forward. Harley threw up her hands in surrender, but Ivy leapt to her feet in a fighting stance. Joker ignored her and put a finger in Harley’s face. “You took half my money, my babies, No one’s cleaned the hideout in _forever_ , and worst of all, YOU LEFT ME!”

Joker was drawing his breath in to let out another rant when two fur balls rushed him in excitement. Joker was knocked off his feet by the two hyenas who nipped and licked at his face, their yipping and laughing echoing through the hideout.

“Bud and Lou!” Joker greeted, scrubbing his hands through their course fur, and pushing them back so he could stand. “Well, at least I know where you two are.”

“I hope they eat you,” Ivy muttered from her spot, but Joker ignored her for the two animals currently giving him affection.

“I wouldn’t take them forever from you,” Harley answered, the traitors instantly running to her when she spoke. Instead of being wild like they were with Joker, they circled her, rubbing their shoulders against her legs.

“How was I to know?” Joker snarled. “You didn’t even leave a note!”

“I swear we thought you wouldn’t notice,” Harley replied with a shrug, but the hurt was rather plain to see in her eyes. “I mean, you never noticed before when I’d gone for months.”

“Well, I noticed this time,” Joker said, crossing his arms. “My best gal leaving me high and dry was felt. I was crushed! I made plans Harley, grand ones, and I wanted to share them with you but then you’d gone. Leaving me to drown in my sorrows.”

“G-gee Mr. J, I didn’t know you felt that way,” Harley stuttered, her accent growing thicker as she became nervous like it always did. “When did you have the change of heart? I figured you just saw me as a partner, not a… ya know… a _partner_.”

Joker blinked, taken aback for a moment. He looked between the two women, Ivy sneering at him, a houseplant in her hands ready to strangle him if he touched Harley. Then, at Harley who was smiling, but appearing like she was getting ready to try to let Joker down gently. That’s when he saw the ring on her finger. Her ring finger.

Ivy was sporting one as well.

“You got MARRIED?!” Joker slapped his hands to his face in shock, then glared at Harley. “ _That’s_ why you left the hideout? Well, that just pisses me off more!”

“You’ve left Harley for dead before clown,” Ivy spat, her plant snapping in Joker’s direction. “You thought she was going to just wait around for when you decided she was worth something?”

“Oh goodness, _no_ ,” Joker laughed, and then seeing their surprised faces exclaimed, “You think I’m upset because you two are together romantically?”

The two women looked at each other, then back at Joker, who was finding this situation amusing.

“Well, ain’t that why you’re mad?” Harley asked.

“No! No, no, no,” Joker shook his head. “I saw this coming from a mile away. You two make a lovely couple. Mazal tov. What I’m upset about is, you left the hideout in a state, then went off with her without even trying to break _me_ out of Arkham, THEN you left to get married, _without me_!”

They both stared at Joker and he realized he had to spell it out.

“You had a party without me,” Joker said, putting on his best pout, hand over his heart. “You know how much I _love_ parties, Harley.”

The reaction was immediate. Harley jumped from the couch and wrapped her arms around Joker, a hand petting his head in comfort. Joker leaned into the familiar warmth of Harley and looked at Ivy who looked like she wanted to gag at this display. It only made Joker snuggle closer to Harley.

“I’m sorry, Puds,” Harley said, pulling Joker into a full embrace. “I should of thought about how much you love parties. If it makes you feel any better, we didn’t do much of nothing there. Only went out to some nature reserve and brought home some new exotic plants Ivy wanted.”

“You know, it does help a little,” Joker responded, nuzzling at Harley’s neck. They may not be romantic partners anymore, but they had known each other long enough that her scent soothed his nerves. It was like coming home to a favorite blanket.

“Even Selina got bored,” Harley continued.

“Catwoman?!” Joker yelled, pushing Harley away in disgust. So much for soothed nerves! He stomped into the bedroom, not wanting to look at either woman until he hit something. Hard. Repeatedly.

Of course, it was Catwoman. Why wouldn’t it be her? She had everything Joker didn’t. An invitation to Harley’s wedding, a trip to Vegas, probably money hidden in some box marked by an X, and best of all, Batman’s attention! She didn’t even have to plan anything out. It was just a given that she received all these things and more whenever she deemed Gotham worthy of her time.

Unlike Joker, who had to work for months on a plan, gather supplies, deal with idiot men who could barely read, or follow a simple instruction, just to set up an elaborate plot to get the Bat to notice him. Did anyone appreciate how much time, energy, and money went into these schemes? It wasn’t an easy way to live, yet, it was the only way to get what he wanted.

Joker hissed through his teeth and surveyed the damage around him.

Broken nightstands, the bed was tilting off to one side, the mirror was in pieces which were stabbed into various objects, and Joker’s hands may be bleeding.

“Puddin’?” Harley cautiously called from the doorway. Joker spun on his heel.

“ _WHAT_?”

“Did you and Batman have a fight?” she asked.

Joker tilted his head. His throat was sore, which meant that he was most likely ranting his thoughts as he destroyed the room. It wasn’t the first time he had done something like this and it was not going to be the last. His men knew not to interrupt him during those moments, but Harley could.

Most times.

This was luckily one of those times.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harley hedged, waiting in the door way to soothe Joker, or run if needed.

It took a few more minutes for Harley to coax Joker out of the room, and to get his hands patched up. They were shallow cuts and would heal by morning. Joker usually didn’t bother even treating them as the super glue lasted far longer than the wounds, but he indulged Harley’s need to be a care giver. It was only of her least annoying traits.

It also gave her an excuse to listen to him.

“I don’t know what to do with him Harl. It’s like he doesn’t care about me much these days. Our routine is all… wrong,” Joker groused, Harley soothing his hand, while Ivy watched the two in open revulsion.

“Have you tried kidnapping Robin to get his attention?” Harley asked, her gentle fingers dancing through the routine of fixing up Joker.

“It would get his attention certainly, but he’s always so cold when I do that,” Joker said, picking at the loose thread in his pants. “There’s no quips or banter. It’s all work and no play.”

“How about the laughing fish gag?” Harley offered, bless her. “That one always makes me laugh!”

“A true performer doesn’t repeat his act for the same audience my dear,” Joker shook his head.

“You could always set up a trap for him on Arkham. Let him bring ya in like always, and have all your men waiting there for him, trapping you two on the island,” Harley said, practically bouncing on the sofa. “Oh, that sounds like a good time!”

“I enjoy your enthusiasm Harley, I really do,” Joker said, then sighed. “But I’d have to find a lot of men, invade the island ahead of time, not to mention Bane is still there. Him and I haven’t gotten along recently. I think he wants to tear my head off.”

“Have you tried just shooting him?” Ivy asked bluntly.

Joker gasped dramatically, and Harley let out a little squeal.

“What a crude, unimaginative suggestion!” Joker placed a hand over his heart. “I’m trying to create art. A web of plans that form a beautiful portrait almost as glorious as Batman himself. A dedication to our mutual love for each other, and you think I’d just _shoot him_? Like a common thug?”

“Whatever canvas you’re working on clearly isn’t giving you results,” Ivy said with a shrug. “Perhaps you should go back to basics there, Mr. Artist.”

“Red, that ain’t a half bad idea,” Harley turned to Joker. “If what you did before wasn’t working, why not try something new? Something even Batman would be surprised by?”

“That’s the idea we’re trying to figure out right now!” Joker complained.

“No,” Harley grabbed his hands, and made him face her. “What if you don’t do a plot at all, and instead, try to work on it from another angle?”

Joker hummed as he thought it over. He wanted to deny it immediately as something that was stupid, that Harley was only listening to Ivy because they were in love, but there was some merit to the suggestion. All his previous attempts haven’t gotten Joker what he wanted in the past. Perhaps changing up everything was in order.

But where would he even start on a task like this?

He was The Joker. There was a rhythm to these things. His does a plan, Batman comes to foil it, he goes to Arkham until he breaks out to start it all over again. It was a routine, something both seemed happy to be in. The fire was in Batman’s eyes every time Joker killed an innocent person or left a trail of bodies for him to find. That hadn’t changed.

Their time together had. Batman took faster routes to Arkham. He punched a little harder, ending their time sooner. Joker had trouble keeping a few steps ahead when he wanted to let Batman follow, and that gap was growing shorter each time they played.

“I think maybe, you’re right,” Joker admitted collapsing on the couch. “I can’t keep doing the same thing and expecting different results. That would just be _crazy_.”

“Have you ever thought about couple’s counseling?” Harley asked.

Joker sprung up from the couch in delight.

“That’s what I’ll do!” Joker exclaimed. “I’ll go to a group session and field some relationship advice, see what I like best, and go with that.”

“It only works if you do it together,” Ivy said with an eyebrow raised.

“Getting Batman there would be a pain,” Joker waved her off, heading into the bedroom to grab some clothes to change into. He didn’t fancy going out in just trousers again. “He gets all broody, and doesn’t talk when he’s angry, which is most of the time, and I need some honest opinions without Batman’s attitude ruining it.”

“I’ll look up current meetings for ya Pud,” Harley offered, already taking out her phone. “You want a gun or two to help take people hostage? I think we still have your loaded pistol.”

“Hmmm, I’m thinking something simple,” Joker answered, debating on which shirt to wear. He needed to look enough like a typical person to not draw attention, but that also went completely against his style. The dark purple one would have to do. “Do we still have that pipe bomb from the bank job?”

“We have five left,” Harley answered immediately. It’s what Joker loved about her. She was always so organized. It made things easier to run when he didn’t have to worry about clean laundry, or food, or where he left all his toys.

“I’ll take two, and some duct tape,” Joker said with a giggle.

He was going to have so much fun!

The place Harley picked out was only a few miles away. Harley and Ivy declined to come with saying something about their honeymoon. Joker thought a hostage situation and maybe some murder would go lovely with a honeymoon, but the girls disagreed. Apparently alone time was their idea.

Joker pulled into the parking lot of a terrible beige building with several signs on it for different offices. Joker walked around back with his pipe bomb strapped to his inside coat to prevent it from being seen by others and keep his hands free. By the look of the worn-out station wagons, old Honda, and several minivans, Joker wasn't anticipating any trouble with this crowd, but one can never be too cautious.

Joker waited until the group was already in session and listened by the door as the Couple's Counselor made all the introductions. Like any good showman he waited until she reached the end and burst into the room.

“I hope you don't mind a last-minute patient doc,” Joker announced, grin upon his face and arms flung out dramatically. “But your group came with high recommendations.”

The Counselor gasped and held her clipboard up like a child hiding behind blankets from a monster. The group of twenty to middle aged couples all began to panic, some jumping from their seats, others clinging to each other in fear. Joker took a moment to enjoy the chaos before pulling back his jacket to show his bomb.

“Now, it's rude to speak out of turn,” Joker said his smile widening at everyone's attention. “Let's all have a seat and we can get started.”

It took a few minutes and some barked orders to get the sobbing people to quiet, and everyone to return to their seats. Joker pulled up a chair and sat across from the Counselor in their circles seating arrangement. It reminded Joker of the group therapy sessions in Arkham. Those were always a lot of fun as one or more of the inmates always cowered by being the one next to Joker.

Unless it was Harvey. He always hated being next to Joker and found him irritating when they were in a group. Joker probably didn't make it any better when he would purposefully annoy him. Those ended in fist fights on occasions when Harvey was in a bad mood and always made Joker smile.

Joker clasp his hands together, looking around at the couples all in various stages of denial, and his eyes landed on the only person not shaking. A mousey hair woman in a cute 1950’s style dress, and a pleasant smile.

“Well, I can see that it’s _my turn_ for introductions, or do I really need one?” Joker asked, his eyes on the woman.

“You should do one. It's how we start every session,” said the woman with a nod. She put a dainty hand on an over weight man with a terrible comb over. “I'm Susan Collins, and this is my husband Charlie.”

“He looks more like a Greg to me,” Joker said, rubbing his chin in thought. Susan looked at Charlie, eyeing him then nodded.

“I can see that,” she responded just as pleasant as before.

Oh, she was _fun_.

“Well, my name is Joker,” Joker said, taking a deep breath then sighing. “And I'm having relationship problems.”

There was a smattering of people welcoming him, the routine so ingrained from their sessions and media. The Counselor cleared her throat, lowering her board into her lap, most likely gaining courage from Susan's display.

“We are here to help,” She said with minimal stuttering. “We usually encourage couples to come. Will your partner be joining us?”

“No,” Joker answered.

The room was silent for a beat.

“Why don't you tell us what the problem seems to be?” she offered, her eyes darting to the pipe bomb beneath Joker's coat.

Joker grinned at his captive audience before standing. Most of them flinched, two fell out of their chairs, and Joker pulled a dramatic pout.

“It's just that, he doesn't seem to appreciate me anymore doc,” Joker began, walking over and sitting in the frightened woman's lap, wrapping his arms around her neck like a child. His long legs bent to fit, and her head was level with his chest.

“I'm not a Doctor but a certified counselor,” the woman muttered as though practiced, her body shivering under Joker.

“I just don't know what to do, _Doc_ ,” Joker continued as though not interrupted. “I do the same things as before, but he just doesn't respond like he used to. Now, he's all physical, which I enjoy trust me,” Joker wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “But we don't have the conversations we used to. He's just so tight lipped now, and it's always ‘stop this Joker' or ‘why are you killing people' that… he never just asks me how I am anymore.”

Joker sighed dramatically, one arm going over his eyes.

“I think he may even…” Joker allowed for a pause. “ _Cheating_ on me with another woman!”

“Have you tried talking to him about the issues you’re experiencing?” she asked.

“We communicate all the time!” Joker exclaimed. “I mean, it was only last year I was giving him a message over all the TV stations about me kidnapping the Mayor! Batman always listens to those. Follows directions well. So that’s not the problem.”

“Y-you’re dating Batman?” the counselor asked, her fear causing her professional manner to slip.

Joker narrowed his eyes.

“I thought it was rather obvious,” Joker answered, miffed. “What with the declarations of love between us, and all that time spent on the roof tops.”

The counselor wisely kept her mouth shut on the subject.

Joker heard the shuffling of people being uncomfortable, but everyone was still silent in their chairs. He removed his arm, and stood back up, leaving the woman’s lap. He paced around the room, the couples flinching as he made eye contact with them, a few still crying quietly as they clutched each other.

“What should I do?” Joker asked, his eyes falling on a young couple. They shrunk back against him, and Joker grabbed the man by his shirt. “I asked a question!”

The man shook his head wildly, only frightful sounds falling from his lips as he stared up at the clown. Joker narrowed his eyes, listening for a few seconds as though the man were passing on ideas. He let the man go, pushing him back into his chair.

“Whimpering in fear is an idea, but I doubt it would work,” Joker mused. He turned to the next couple. “What about you two?”

The couple clung to each other, the woman stuttering, pleading for Joker not to harm them. Joker watched dispassionately as they broke down into sobs, flinching at every move he made. Then, he looked at the other couples.

Most of them were in the same state. Joker sighed. He really hoped this session was going to at least give him something to think about. An idea, or maybe he could just kill them all to lift his own spirits? That was certainly a thought but didn’t make him feel any better. It was rather depressing seeing as how he made all these troubled couples suddenly realize they needed each other.

At least some people got their issues resolved.

Joker thought about taping the pipe bomb in his jacket to the Counselor’s hand to see if she could answer his questions better. Maybe they only needed a little more motivation to get the creative juices flowing? Nothing said hurry up quite like a literal ticking time bomb.

“Why don’t you try seeing other people?” a voice popped up.

Joker turned to see Susan with a thoughtful expression on her face. She seemed completely oblivious to the whole plight of her fellow couples, and her slight northern Michigan accent was rather charming.

“See other people?” Joker asked, stepping closer to Susan. Her husband was looking horrified at his wife for drawing Joker’s attention, while she just smiled.

“Sometimes it takes a new person to draw attention to our own issues,” Susan said in an almost practiced tone. “You can learn a lot about yourself while going on a casual date with someone else.”

“A casual date?” Joker tapped his chin in thought. He did see Waylon and Harvey this week. Both had left him wanting, but those were sexual encounters. Maybe he needed a date night? Someone who could show Joker a good time.

“It’s good to try something new every once in a while,” Susan nodded sagely, then looked at the counselor, “Miss. White is always telling us communication and keeping things from growing stale is the key to a long-lasting relationship.” She glanced at her husband who continued to watch on in horror and patted him like a dog. “We’re trying something new, but with making different things for dinner. My husband is a picky eater.”

Joker grinned. Oh, he really liked this woman.

“That’s it!” Joker exclaimed. “I’m going to go on a date with someone new! Someone dashing! Someone everyone will be envious of! That will teach Bats to go run off with another lady, and who knows? Maybe this new person will be _better_ than Bats?”

As quickly as his excitement grew, it deflated. Finding someone who was even close to Batman was impossible. No one was as smart or quick as the man. Joker’s smile fell as he thought on it, his enthusiasm draining.

“Who am I kidding…” Joker pouted, dropping back into his chair, his legs flopping out. “No one will ever come close to being as good as my Bats. He’s my soulmate… who could be better than that?”

“Bruce Wayne is single now,” Susan said with a shrug. “Everyone wants to date him.”

Joker barked out a laugh, clutching at his own chest, and nearly falling out of his chair with the very notion of dating Gotham’s golden child. Wouldn’t that be the best? Clown Prince of Crime seducing the Playboy. The news would go absolutely wild on that story! That was a joke almost too good for Joker to tell!

He was wiping the tears from his eyes, ready to tell poor Susan where she could shove that idea and he might even help her do it, when a small voice spoke up in the back of his head. Why not? Why not date the most wanted bachelor in Gotham?

Harvey said Joker was a catch. Harley seems to think Joker is the apple of everyone’s eye. Joker certainly hasn’t received any complaints of his skills in the bedroom, not that they would ever tell him to his face anyways. They all knew better.

But it wasn’t a bad idea.

In fact, the more Joker thought about it, the more he liked it. If there was anyone high profile enough to earn the envy of Batman, it was probably Bruce Wayne. And if nothing else, Joker could always rob the billionaire. That would be a bonus.

Joker’s smile almost split his face in two as he decided he would go on a date with Bruce Wayne tomorrow, whether the pretty boy wanted to or not.

“Well, this has been fun!” Joker said, grabbing the pipe bomb from his jacket and placing it in Susan’s lap. “Hold that for me dear, I’ll be right back.” Joker held up his in a stage whisper, “Gotta use the little boy’s room.”

With a wink, Joker left the room cackling, and already planning how he would pull this newest idea off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed! I read and reply to every comment. Thank you!


	4. Wednesday

Wayne Tower was a monster of a building. It reached up into the sky, black windows, and made of steel. Much of Gotham’s buildings were made to be gothic in nature but there was something awe inspiring about the Wayne building. It’s three-tiered structure, the giant antennae on top slowly blinking red which painted the ever-present clouds, and the gargoyles made quite an impression even on someone like Joker.

 It was true that Gotham had many gargoyles planted around the city, and Joker knew for a fact that Batman loved to gaze at the city perched on top of them, but these were different. The other ones around the city were made well before Wayne Tower was built. They were stone, worn from wind and rain to soften over time. The Gargoyles of Wayne Tower were steel, sharp, and would never dull for however long the tower stood. The ever-watchful predators.

Gotham’s golden son being guarded by steel monsters in his gilded obelisk. Joker thought there was something poetic about that.

Joker also thought there was something to be said about approaching such a man with the right disguise.

Joker had spent much of his morning in front of a full-length mirror, airbrushing over his skin. He wanted his makeup to be perfect. Something that would cover him completely, look natural, and make his masculine features softer. He even had to employ Harley in the matter, and she was always up for seeing Joker in all his naked glory. Though, they couldn’t play. Jealous wives and all that.

He picked out a suitable wig for the occasion. He had read numerous tabloids and seen enough photos of Wayne to know that he had a certain preference for brunettes. Joker had one with wavy hair, capable of hiding his stronger jaw line, and was already styled. It went well with the lovely red dress Joker picked out and the matching nails.

He even packed his panty hose with stuffing to make his ass look great and his waist narrow. Not to mention the bra currently sporting gel inserts to give him some minor cleavage. Standing in front of the mirror, Joker could hardly tell it was him looking back. He was the picture of a young thirty something model ready to bag herself a rich husband she hated.

Joker’s only regret was the high heels. He hadn’t worn them in yet and his ankles weren’t going to be happy with him.

He knew his outfit worked though when even Ivy was staring at him with vague interest. He would take that as a win.

“Knock ‘em dead puddin’!” Harley cheered.

“That’s the idea,” Joker cooed, pinching her cheek. He swung his purse over his shoulder and smiled at Ivy. “Now, you two have fun while momma’s gone man hunting, and don’t stay up too late.”

He cackled as he left the hideout knowing his place was well guarded with those two left behind.

Which brings him to his current wait by Wayne Tower for the allusive billionaire to make his way out of the building. There was a small gap of a few feet between the security glass doors and where a limo would be waiting to receive Wayne. The distance was short to probably deter reporters from lingering around the building during whatever scandal the playboy got himself into this week.

Joker counted himself lucky that there didn’t appear to be anyone waiting around.

He circled the block once, making sure he wasn’t being too obvious with his wait, and even going into a few shops. Joker had to restrain himself when more than a few men catcalled him on the streets.

“Can’t a lady just exist?” Joker mumbled, jerking the clothing on the rack a little harder than needed. He looked up to see the man who had called him sugar was passing the shop for the third time.

Joker never forgot a face and was already planning on what he wanted to do to the man when he had some free time. Surely, he was doing the city a favor by removing some slime like that. Or, Joker could black mail him in into service and get him beaten up by the Bat. That was always fun.

The only problem was, the man was going to be paying attention to Joker when he exited the store. That would certainly make his attempt at accosting Bruce Wayne harder than it needed to be. Joker checked his watch and saw he only had roughly twenty minutes until the end of Bruce’s typical work schedule to figure this out.

“Do you need help?” asked the store clerk in a classy pantsuit.

“No,” Joker answered his voice a little gruffer than needed for his disguise.

The woman, a professional, didn’t even finch. But Joker wanted to keep cover, and this was honestly a wonderful opportunity. He glanced at her name tag and attempted a shy smile. Marge returned it.

“Actually, there is something I could use help with,” Joker began, keeping his voice low and whispering. “There’s a man circling outside. Has been since he made rude remarks on the street to me.”

Marge’s eyes went to the window and narrowed. Joker had to fight to keep the grin off his face. There were few things in the world fiercer than a woman thinking she needed to protect another woman in danger. It was something Joker often used in hostage situations, and to lure people into traps, but this worked just as well.

“We have a back exit if you’d like to take it,” Marge offered. “And I can call the cops on him to distract him while we get you away.”

“Really?” Joker asked, making doe eyes, and his voice quivering slightly.

“You just point him out,” Marge said, wrapping a protective arm around Joker’s taller frame. “I’ll take care of the rest honey.”

“Oh, thank you!” Joker praised, dabbing the corner of his eyes.

Marge was true to her words. Two undercover police officers pulled the man aside, while Joker was led out the back of the store. It put him in the perfect position to around the corner in front of Wayne Tower just as a limo pulled up.

Joker glanced over seeing the two officers arguing with the man, causing a few people to become distracted. Perfect.

An older gentleman, most likely Wayne’s butler, stepped out of the limo. He went around to open the door for his employer, but not before glancing at the scene being caused across the street. Joker took the moment for all it was worth, crouching down, opening the opposite door, and crawling in the limo just in time for Bruce Wayne to slide in the other side.

Joker grinned, allowing the surprised billionaire to take in the appearance of another person in his limo. The door shut behind him, the butler still oblivious to the stowaway.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Wayne said, putting on charm that most likely melted most people on the spot.

 “Oh darling, I think we have,” Joker answered, keeping his tone light, and soft. His voice would never pass as feminine, but with enough practice, Joker kept the typical cadence of a woman. It worked on most people.

Bruce Wayne didn’t appear to be most people.

The butler got into the driver’s seat just as Wayne’s mind worked out who was sitting across from him. Joker could always tell when people figured it out by the widening of the eyes, the slow drop of their mouths, and the pure wave of fear that washed over them. He would bask in the moment, and it always left him feeling high on power.

Wayne was aiming to displease.

Wayne stared at Joker, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second, his hands clenching, and instead of angling away like everyone did, he leaned forward. As though to grab Joker or start punching him. Both of which seemed far more exciting than Joker thought the playboy was capable of.

There may be more to the man than Joker first thought. He would file that away as something to ponder later.

Joker grinned fully now, and his stocking covered legs resting over Wayne’s finely tailored ones. Oh, he was muscular under that suit, that was good to know.

“Now, no screaming or trying to get away from me,” Joker warned, wagging a finger. “Or something terrible will happen.”

“What do you want Joker?” Wayne spat out.

They both ignored the gasp from the driver.

“Oh, something really simple actually,” Joker began, leaning back in the seat, and rubbing his legs on Wayne’s, enjoying how much it pissed off the playboy. “I want you to show me a good time today. Pretend I’m one of your many dates and take me around town like you would any of them. You do that, and I’ll be on my very best behavior. That’s not so hard, is it?”

“Why?” Wayne asked.

“Later darling,” Joker patted his cheek. “Can’t ask a girl for all her secrets before the date has even begun.”

“If I take you out for the day,” Wayne began slowly. “And I treat you as I would any other date, you won’t hurt anyone?”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Joker said with a shrug. “After all, the evening is young.”

Joker felt the tension starting in Wayne’s legs, and could see the vein throbbing just above his shirt collar. What Joker found most intriguing was the man wasn’t giving away his displeasure on his face. Though, Joker was sure Wayne had to do a lot of camera work, so it wasn’t that surprising.

The idea of finding the right buttons to push to make Wayne lose that composure was an exciting prospect.

“Let’s say this,” Joker ran a finger up Wayne’s arm. “My plans don’t include harming anyone today if you go along with our date. I may have some impulse control issues but what’s an evening without a little bit of danger?”

Wayne stared while Joker smiled. The car had yet to move, but the driver hadn’t said a word since the whole exchange had begun. Joker guessed the man was waiting for Wayne’s cue on what to do. Which, by the looks of all the complicated expressions passing over the playboy’s face, he was having a difficult time choosing.

“It’s either this, or I make a sudden change to those plans,” Joker said, his smile falling. “And I don’t think either of us wants that, do we?”

“No, we don’t,” Wayne answered. He kept his eyes on Joker but turned his face slightly to the driver. “Take us to the Gotham Boutique, Alfred.”

“Right away, sir,” Alfred responded quickly, and pulled away from the curb.

Joker cocked his head to the side, a smile growing across his face as he looked at Wayne. He wasn’t expecting Wayne to send him away, but the quick acceptance, and no hesitation on where they needed to go was a pleasant surprise. However, Joker didn’t know why they needed to go to a dress shop.

He frowned and looked down at his red dress.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” Joker asked.

“It’s not expensive enough,” Wayne answered smoothly, that charm coming back. “If we’re going to have an evening together, anything under two thousand for your dress alone won’t do.”

Joker blinked.

“Is this a common thing for you?” Joker asked. “Insulting your date’s outfit, making decisions for them, and flaunting your wealth?”

“Yes,” Wayne answered simply.

They were both surprised when laughter burst out of Joker.   

“Next thing you know, you’ll be climbing a fire escape with flowers in your mouth, _Pretty Woman_ style,” Joker giggled.

This time Wayne was confused. Joker grabbed his lapels with a gasp.

“Don’t tell me a suave billionaire like you hasn’t watched _Pretty Woman_! It’s a classic!” Joker said and saw Wayne’s eyebrows shoot up. Joker groaned, falling dramatically back into his seat, an arm covering his forehead. “One of the most romantic movies ever made and playboy here hasn’t seen it.”

Joker removed his arm and eyed the billionaire who had grown silent while Joker was having a small meltdown in his limo. Wayne was frowning at him, still completely, and adorably lost.

“You’re a terrible date,” Joker said, making Wayne let out a sigh.

It was the first of many during their evening.

They pulled up to the Gotham Boutique with little fanfare. The streets were rather empty of pedestrians since it was the typical time most Gothamites would be stuck in rush hour traffic. Joker didn’t mind, since it allowed him to enjoy annoying Wayne without distraction.

“Are we going to be buying a single dress, or are we doing a whole trip?” Joker asked, already eyeing the manakins in the shop window. The colorful scarf and hat combo on the far left that would add some much-needed upgrade to his vacation outfits.

After all, Harley and Ivy owed him one.

“Depends on what, other than dinner, you want to do,” Wayne answered, getting out, and holding a hand to assist Joker out.

Joker grinned, taking the man, and stepping out. He felt Wayne’s arm wrap around his waist a little tight, but that was alright. Joker liked that Wayne was putting in the work. Joker could always appreciate someone who tried.

“I was thinking a party after,” Joker said.

“On a Wednesday night?” Wayne pondered. “It’ll have to be a smaller affair. My Penthouse in the city will do. Most won’t come all the way out to the Manson in the middle of the week. Will that suffice?”

Joker felt a thrill of excitement run down his spine. Oh, he may have to kidnap Wayne more often if he was going to be this accommodating. Playboys can go on dates with the same person a few times, right?

“I think it will, darling,” Joker said with a smile.

Wayne glanced over at Alfred, who nodded and was already pulling out a cell phone to prepare for the evening. Wayne turned and led them towards the store’s entrance.

“Before we go in, one thing,” Wayne said quietly, his serious face coming back on. Joker was ready to quip him about the hurting people thing, but Wayne surprised him again when he instead asked, “For this evening, what pronouns and name would you prefer?”

Joker took a moment to answer. He hadn’t thought about it, but it made sense. Joker was in a dress, heels, and wig to make himself look like a woman, but that didn’t mean he would want to be addressed as one. The fact that Wayne stopped to ask was a pleasantry.

Joker was learning a lot of pleasant facts about Wayne today.

“In public, she and her, in private, he and him,” Joker answered, and then smiled. “And how about we go with Vivian Ward for the name?”

Wayne inclined his head and opened the door for Joker. Joker silently vowed he was going to sit Wayne down to watch Pretty Woman before the night was over.

“Mr. Wayne, welcome,” said the older woman behind the counter, obviously the store owner. She was dressed in white silk and pearls.

“Bridgette, it’s Bruce please,” he responded, that charm turning back up. “This is my lovely date Miss. Vivian Ward.”

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Bridgette said, her smile just as sweet to Joker as it was to Bruce. Joker admired the professionalism, even if he hated the fakeness of it. “What can I assist with today?”

“Miss. Ward needs to walk out of here dressed better than any other woman in Gotham,” Wayne answered, the hand on Joker’s lower back pushing Joker towards the woman. “A dress for our dinner to Masa Sushi, and something comfortable for a party in my Penthouse later. Perhaps a few other outfits just in case.”

Joker looked back at Wayne with a glare for the push, but Wayne was smirking at him, and the older woman was already leading Joker towards the dressing room.

“We’ll be happy to assist Miss. Ward in finding suitable outfits,” the owner said, making two sharp claps with her hands.

Two new assistants seemed to appear out of nowhere with arms full of clothing swatches. Joker stumbled back and fell into a plush chair, wincing slightly as his welts stung. He kept forgetting they were there until he sat down.

His purse was plucked from his hands quickly and delivered to Wayne. Joker’s glanced at Wayne, who spoke in quiet tones to the owner. Joker was left speechless for a few moments as numerous fabrics were shoved in his face, asking his opinion on this material over that.

Luckily, Joker tailored all his own clothing, and through trial and error, knew what materials his skin could or could not handle. He recovered quickly and started answering their rapid-fire questions.

Joker was arguing the merits of picking a wool blend over cotton, when his feet were picked up.

“Hey!” Joker shouted, looking down to see a new woman taking off his shoes.

“I apologize for startling you, but Mr. Wayne wants matching shoes,” the woman explained, not stopping in stripping him of his heels. “And there is some swelling to your feet. I’m going to soak them while you look over fabrics.”

He was going to tell the woman he didn’t care what Mr. Wayne wanted, when he saw the state of his feet under the heels. Joker’s nose wrinkled at the deep red lines in his feet. He was used to low levels of pain and the obvious damage to his feet wouldn’t have registered without him seeing them. Now that he was aware, the throbbing distracted him. He nodded along with the conversation happening around his head, watching as the woman placed his feet in a soak bath.

He hoped he embarrassed Wayne with the obscene moan he let out when the woman dipped his feet in the cool water. The throbbing in his feet dulled, and he shivered as the nerves carried the cold up into his body. He relaxed into the chair, barely paying attention to the buzz of people chatting.  

Joker was close to deciding, even without the rest of the evening, that this was the life he wanted, when things changed.

He was abruptly shoved into a dressing room with dozens of dresses, several waist trainers, new stockings, and twice as many shoes. He also wasn’t alone. Two of the girls were in there with him, pushing, and pulling respectively as his garments. The creepy foot lady came back too, but this time she did something worse than strip him of shoes.

“Why are you carrying wax?” Joker asked, and before he could voice a complaint, he was shoved into a new waist trainer. The breath was pushed out of him as the girls worked to give him a figure, and the creepy girl was already waxing his legs.

   Joker was yelping, and trying to escape from her hands, but as soon as he focused on one girl, the others would do something to annoy him. He would then lose track of the first to go after another, only for another assistant to take him by surprise. It was worse than fighting the Robins. It was harder than fighting Batman. Because, he could hurt them, but he had promised to behave like a date.

He was deeply regretting that promise.

The women went through several outfits, accessories, and even jewelry. There was so much activity happening around that Joker didn’t realize his wig had been pulled from his head until there was a comb in his hair. The girls cooed over his hair, one even commenting she wished she had curls like that. Joker felt some tiny bit of his ego stir back to life.

Everything down to his underwear changed. The girls put him in a new bra with amazingly soft gel to fill the new cups. It also fit better and didn’t slide around his chest like the previous one did. They showed him how to tuck safely and offered to get him a heavier laying dress if he preferred not to, which Joker took.

He was already going to be uncomfortable this evening, he might as well take what little he could get.

His makeup was redone by another lady, while someone else stripped his previous nail polish to give him a proper manicure. He felt like a doll being moved about by a group of overly excited girls at a sleep over. He only hoped he came out looking like the best dressed woman in Gotham or else he was going to burn this place to the ground for the treatment.

Joker came out of the dressing room sore, his legs and underarms throbbing from being freshly waxed, his waist restricted, and all previous good mood out the door. It took him a few steps before his balance was regained in the new shoes, and he looked up. He saw Wayne standing by the counter with a glass of what looked like wine in his hands, Joker nearly threw a shoe at him.

Then, Wayne turned towards him.

Joker watched as Wayne’s breath hitched, and the suave playboy mask slipped. Wayne tipped his glass, only noticing his action when the liquid soaked into his sleeve, his piercing blue eyes finally moving away from Joker’s form. Joker frowned and turned to see his reflection in the wall of mirrors to see what all the fuss was about.

He was _gorgeous_.

His green hair which had grown out in the months in Arkham to a ratty, curly mess, was now tamed. It was pinned to the top and spilled in elegant tresses to the right side of his face. Joker had only seen models with this hairstyle before. His makeup was deceivingly simple looking. They highlighted his cheekbones, made his nose appear smaller, and practically erased the creasing. He had a smoky eye with false lashes, a soft purple below his reshaped brows, and his lips were made smaller, fuller, with glossy sheen.

He could see his own bust moving in short breathes as he inspected his hourglass figure covered snug in expensive sequence. He had never thought to wear something sequenced as those dresses only suggested the disco era of American culture, but this was different. The various shades of blues in hand stitched patterns went all the way down to his knees. The under layer was thick, shapely, and prevented any hint of the waist trainer from being seen through the material.

His new stocking matched his airbrushed skin tone flawlessly and smoothed out the natural wrinkles at his knees. The heels were modest, only an inch, and were form fitted to his feet. He felt like he was walking on a cloud.

He was only half-aware when they put jewelry on him. It was some time between the hair styling, and makeup application. He had a bracelet shining with real diamonds on his left wrist, two simple silver rings with engravings, and a heavy necklace most likely worth more than Wayne’s limo around his neck. The earrings were clip-ons as he refused to get his ears pierced again. They would only close as soon as he took out the earrings.

One of only a few downsides to his improved healing after his chemical bath.

There was only one problem with the beautiful picture in front of him. Joker didn’t recognize it.

Joker couldn’t see himself and that thought _terrified_ him. The world began to tilt, change, and decay under his feet. No one seemed to notice, not that Joker was paying any close attention to them. He saw a beautiful, alluring woman in front of him, but that’s wasn’t _real_.

The world didn’t often feel real to him most times. The vision staring back at him matched his movements but was a doll. It lacked his grace, his edge. He was tempted to break the mirror, use a shard to stab the assistant who was envious of his curls. He could paint his proper smile from her blood and wouldn’t have to look at the fake anymore.

“Vivian?” Wayne questioned, suddenly close. Joker resisted the urge to jump as Wayne circled a strong arm around his waist. It was oddly grounding. “You look stunning dear.”

Joker nodded. He agreed, but he didn’t like it. His eyes still on the mirror, watching the image’s breathing become rapid. It was almost funny to see his not-body appear to be having a panic attack. Wayne moved them closer to the mirror.

He saw Wayne leaning in, the curve of his mouth moving as he spoke into Joker’s ear.

“Find your eyes,” Wayne’s voice was soft, only Joker heard.

Joker nodded, and he strangely obeyed. His green eyes were unchanged beneath the makeup, and familiar. They were a comfort. Once he saw that, he could spot the shape of his face, his long neck, and the slope of his ears. They were little things, hints of who he was under all of this, but he needed to confirm it. The doll faded away, and Joker could see himself.

The world righted.

“Want to get out of here?” asked Wayne, still speaking only for Joker.

“Yes.”

Wayne turned.

“Please pack everything we need up into the limo,” Wayne ordered the store, his grip tightening around Joker as he led Joker to the door. “We have a dinner to get to.”

Joker heard the world through a bubble as Wayne made all the departing conversations required by society. Joker allowed Wayne to guide him through the store, and back into the limo. He left Joker there for a few minutes while Wayne oversaw the payment and packing of the outfits.

Joker took a deep breath, listening to the sounds of the city through the limo. The distant honking of cars, the constant hum of signs, businesses, and people was like a song that Gotham sang to its children. Joker would lay with a window open on pleasant nights just to hear it, and it soothed his heart. This time was no different.

It was so different from Arkham’s song. There was a constant hum of the lights broken only by the screams of the insane, the shuffling of a patient being moved, or the guards rushing to a room. Arkham sang like a mosquito in the ear, while Gotham played a tune.

Joker closed his eyes, allowing Gotham to lull him.

Joker had calmed completely when Wayne got into the limo. Wayne moved slowly, telegraphing. Joker would find it insulting that Wayne was treating him like a child, if he didn’t find the idea hilarious. Wayne gave a soft smile and held out Joker’s forgotten purse.

Joker noticed it was the same one he went into the store with. It was the only thing not changed on him, and he was oddly grateful for it. He took it back, and set it in his lap, feeling the items inside. He wondered if Wayne opened it.

“Are you up for some sushi?” Wayne asked.

“What is it with you rich guys and paying more for uncooked things?” Joker questioned, his nose wrinkling. “If I’m paying for something, it better be hard work to get it to my plate.”

“ _I’m_ paying for it,” Wayne said, he relaxed against the limo as the driver pulled away from the curb. “Have you ever had sushi before?”

“I’ve eaten raw fish when Harley wasn’t around to cook,” Joker answered with a shrug. “Wasn’t good.”

Joker could practically feel the man attempting not to make fun of him. Joker frowned and crossed his arms. He didn’t need a rich guy looking down on him. Joker was hungry, and in his defense, he was badly injured from an explosion at that time. It wasn’t his best day, but he wasn’t going to explain himself.

“Sushi is about the taste of the rice, matched with texture of the fish as a compliment,” Wayne explained smoothly. “It’s not just about eating raw fish. Though the fish where we are going is the finest in the country.”

“How much are you about to pay for this?” Joker asked, amused.

“Around two thousand for both of us,” Wayne shrugged.

Joker laughed hard enough he feared his makeup was going to run, giggling all the way through their seating at the fanciest place Joker ever stepped foot into, and ordering. When Wayne challenged him to try the food, Joker couldn’t pass it up, reluctantly putting some of it in his mouth.

Wayne’s eyes sparkled with amusement at Joker’s response.

“I told you it was worth it,” Wayne smugly said, sipping his hot tea.

Joker didn’t bother retorting. He knew when he was beaten, and to speak he would have to stop eating. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He never thought raw fish laid on white rice would be this tasty. He was fighting between wanting to put the whole plate in his mouth or continue savoring the current piece.

Wayne called over their waiter and asked for another tray of the chief’s special to be brought. The waiter bowed, before running off to obey. Wayne sipped his tea again to cover the smile growing on his face when Joker made a pleased sound at the new order.

They were in a secluded part of the restaurant, seated in two plush chairs across from one another, and candles flickering around them. It made the experience intimate, and private. Joker noticed Wayne sat on the far end with the best view of the restaurant’s entrance. If Joker was a betting man, he would say Wayne did that on purpose.

It was easy to spot when Joker watched the man’s eyes always stay where he could watch the doors. Joker put another piece of food into his mouth and pondered once more about Wayne.

For a playboy he seemed a bit too well trained. The grounding of someone in a panic attack wasn’t common knowledge. Wayne did it was an ease that spoke of practice. Without a family or long-term romance partners, that didn’t seem to be in character. Unless he suffered from them, which Joker somehow couldn’t picture.

Though, Wayne was friends with Harvey Dent for years. There was little doubt Harvey would have had emotional problems prior to Two-Face surfacing. But something nagged at the back of Joker’s mind. There was more to the puzzle. This piece was similar but didn’t fit the space. Joker would leave it. For now.

“Normally this is the part in a date when we start to chat,” Wayne said, then took a bite of his own food.

“I hate small talk,” Joker answered between bites. “Blah blah, weather, blah, blah, boring stuff, blah blah, why’d you kill all those kids Joker _you monster_. It’s always so dull.”

Wayne paused.

“What kids did you kill?” Wayne asked, his voice tight.

“None today,” Joker cheerfully answered, holding up a basic salute. “Scout’s honor!”

“If you’ve hurt someone this week—”

“What are you going to do about it?” Joker asked, his lips curling enough to show his teeth. “Cry into your money bags for comfort? Take a swing at me? Hire an assassin to take me out? I must warn you on that last one, as I hear finding someone to take the job is getting difficult these days. Luthor’s words, not mine.”

“No,” Wayne was still tense, but his fists loosened. “I’d never kill someone, even someone like you.”

“Oh, now that’s interesting,” Joker purred, folding his hands, and resting his chin on them. He leaned in, forgetting the delicious food on the table. “A ‘No Kill’ policy, _hm_? Is that because you have ideals about life being precious little snowflakes that must be cherished, or… is that little moral high ground rooted in trauma?”

Wayne didn’t respond verbally, but he didn’t have to. The tightening of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, and the conflict in his eyes spoke louder than words ever could. Wayne was obviously not above killing for morality sake which was what much of society tried to drill into people. It was selfishly driven and that made Joker squirm with delight.

“Dear old mom and dad die in your arms, and you can’t stand the sight of the dead anymore,” Joker said quietly but his smile grew. Wayne’s nostrils flared in anger. _Oh yes_ , Wayne was far from dull. “You donate all the money you can to Arkham to prevent us crazies from murdering because you don’t like the _sight_ of it. Most people are hopelessly boring in their reasons for despising the rogues of Gotham but you? Your reason is equal parts interesting, and _pathetic_.”

Wayne looked like he wanted to punch Joker hard enough to snap his neck. Joker wished he would try. The evening could use a bit of violence. The rush of a fight went through Joker, and his stomach coiled in glee. It was near the edge of arousal when Wayne kept eye contact with Joker. They were each tense, ready to leap into action, and Joker could barely contain his excitement.

Then, just as quickly as that fire burned in Wayne, it settled while he visibly retrained his emotions.

Joker was almost disappointed.

“It seems you have me pegged,” Wayne began, his voice controlled, but deep. “What about you?”

“I’m an open book!” Joker said, then popped a piece of fish in his mouth. He chewed with a smile, waiting to hear what Wayne would have to say.

“Why is it that you murder people?” Wayne questioned, though he didn’t wait for a response. “I think it’s because you’re scared.”

“Scared?” Joker smiled dangerously. “I think you have me confused with a certain doctor who likes to wear a burlap sack over his face and screams like a child when Batman shows up.”

“Oh, I’m not mistaken,” Wayne’s smile was sharp, and Joker didn’t like it. “You’re scared of what will happen if you stop.”

“And if I did stop myself? Why would I be scared? Tell me, _Mr. Wayne_.”

 “You’d lose your perception of who you are, and that _terrifies_ you,” Wayne answered, his face inches from Joker, voice lowered.

Joker seethed. He knew who he was, with or without murdering people. He didn’t need to do anything to be who he was. He imagined smashing Wayne’s head into the table, right into the wine glass holding the candle. The glass would shatter, cutting that handsome, smug face. Joker could use the lovely set of chopsticks to poke those pretty eyes out and feed them to Wayne. That would remind him who he was speaking to.

He griped his chopsticks tighter, already planning which eye to go after first.

“Prove me wrong,” Wayne whispered with a challenge.

“Why do you think your opinion matters enough for me to care to prove you wrong?” Joker asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Because I’m your date and everyone wants to impress their date,” Wayne responded, leaning back into his seat. He didn’t smile, nor did he look smug. He waited, and Joker found himself charmed against his own will.

“Don’t ever trust someone who says you’re smart Mr. Wayne,” Joker said, grinning. “They’re either sucking up to you, or an idiot.”

Wayne raised his cup of tea, and Joker clinked his own against it. Joker giggled, downing his tea, and starting back on his food. There was a silent cease fire between them, and Joker found he liked it. His earlier thoughts on puzzle pieces, and deeper meaning came back up.

Wayne may be an idiot, but he was _interesting_ , and Joker could work with interesting.

The waiter brought over their new order of food, and Joker clapped his hands together in excitement. He was going to have to lose the waist trainer soon, because room needed to be made. Nothing was going to go to waste, even if Joker made himself sick with it.

An hour later Joker had Wayne help him out of the waist trainer in the limo.

“I’m _dying_ ,” Joker said dramatically, his back turned to Wayne whose nimble fingers were already loosening the trainer. Joker let out a sigh of relief as the pressure was released from his midsection and he could take deep breaths again.

The only issue with it was the tightness of the dress caused it to pull at his stomach. On the plus side, it hitched up the end of his dress, so it sat on his upper thigh. He smirked when he saw Wayne’s eyes drift to his legs during their ride. Joker made sure to move them to keep the man’s eyes drawn.

“I’m stuffed,” Joker announced, rubbing his rounded stomach.

“I’m glad to see you liked my choice of dinner,” Wayne answered, his own suit jacket was unbuttoned. Joker wasn’t the only one who overfed himself at dinner.

“Oh, we should get something cold to soothe our stomachs,” Joker popped up, and called over to Alfred. “Take a right up ahead and keep northbound. I know a great place for shakes.”

Alfred dared to study the rear-view mirror, which was directed at Wayne, to confirm. Joker wanted to complain, but Wayne must had nodded, since Alfred followed Joker’s directions.

It wasn’t the high-end side of town and took a while to get there. Joker spent much of his time on his knees, head on the back of the driver’s seat, directing Alfred. The place was a tiny hole in the wall shop that was easily missed. Unlike a lot of the places in the main district, this one didn’t have any signs. It was a converted ice cream truck, missing all its wheels, and parked on cinderblocks between two brick buildings. Anyone would overlook it as a piece of scrap if they didn’t know any better.

Joker didn’t wait for Wayne, popping out of the limo as soon as it stopped. Joker went up to the side of the truck and knocked.

“Hey Dale, you there?” Joker called.

The side window opened, and the lights flickered on as a man in his thirties appeared, bearded, and muscular. Dale’s eyes widen when he saw Joker.

“What’s a classy lady like you doing in this neighborhood, Miss?” Dale asked without a hint of flirting. Dale was too dense for that.

“You’ll make a girl blush with that talk,” Joker smiled, his hands on his hips. He made no effort to disguise his voice.

“Jo?” Dale smiled in disbelief, leaning out the window on his forearms to get a better look. “You’re a sight for sore eyes! Last I heard you were plucked up by a bat and kept in Arkham.”

“Got out just this Sunday,” Joker responded with a shrug. “Tired of white walls.”

“I hear you,” Dale nodded, though Joker doubted the man ever spent any time in an asylum. “I’ll tell you what Jo, I’ll give you a shake on the house today to celebrate you getting on the outside.”

“Do you give all the well-dressed ladies this kind of treatment?” Joker asked.

“Only for you Jo,” Dale said with a toothy grin. “Your usual, right?”

“Yes,” Joker answered, and heard someone clear their throat.

Joker and Dale turned to see Bruce Wayne standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, and looking horribly out of place. He was probably carrying more money in his suit than the surrounding building were worth and knew it.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Dale commented, leaning out his truck again, hand extended. “Welcome to our neck of the woods Mr. Wayne. I’m Dillard Brown, but everyone calls me Dale.”

“Nice to meet you, Dale,” Wayne responded, shaking Dale’s hand. Joker was impressed when Wayne didn’t try to discreetly wipe his hand off afterwards.

“Jo is he with you?” Dale asked.

“He’s my date tonight,” Joker wrapped an arm around Wayne’s, pressing his chest against it as well, and looked over. “What kind of shake do you want?”

“I’ll take a plain chocolate,” Wayne answered, pulling out his wallet.

Dale held up his hand.

“I got both of you covered,” said Dale, pulling out a scooper to start the two orders. “Jo here brings me enough business that I don’t worry about customers. Besides, I didn’t get either of you anything for your date. Least I could do.”

“That’s why you’re my favorite!” Joker announced to Dale, laughing when the man blushed at the comment.

Joker took his monster of a shake filled with hot fudge, brownies, sprinkles, whipped cream, and three cherries from Dale. He eagerly took his first sip from the sugary concoction and closed his eyes in pleasure. Ice cream as an excellent choice.

Joker watched Wayne take a small sip at first, clearly skeptical of the quality. Joker grinned behind his straw as Wayne quickly began to drink his shake in earnest, wincing when he received a brain freeze for his haste. Wayne went back to Dale, dropped a hundred-dollar bill into the truck when Dale wasn’t looking, and got a shake for Alfred, who hesitantly accepted it.

“Dale makes the best shakes in all of Gotham,” Joker announced when they returned in the limo, all three working their shakes.

“How does he make the ice cream?” Wayne asked. “It doesn’t look like he has a setup to make it.”

“His sister lives upstate on a farm,” Joker started telling, fishing out the cherries to eat from his shake. “She gives Dale fresh milk, and eggs every day to make his ice cream, and he churns the milk by hand in this wood barrel surrounded by ice. He cracks an egg in the shake too when he spins in the flavor. Makes it thick, like custard.”

 “How did you stumble across him?” asked Wayne.

“Batman hit me through a wall into a room that couldn’t hold my weight. I fell through a few floors, and into Dale’s current living area when he was homeless,” Joker answered, tapping his straw around the cup to get more of the ice cream. “My knife slipped out of my pocket when I landed, and I went back later to find it. Found Dale churning at a barrel. Asked him what was in it, and he gave me some. Been a loyal customer ever since.”

Joker sipped at the remains of his shake, barely getting any more out of it. When Joker looked up, Wayne was frowning. Joker wondered what was bothering the billionaire now and nudged him with his foot.

“Brain freeze?” Joker asked.

 “Yeah,” Wayne answered, but Joker knew he was lying.

They sat in comfortable silence the rest of the way to the Penthouse, each wishing their shakes had a bit more in them.

Joker had momentarily forgot that he requested a party when they turned up at the hotel that housed Wayne’s Penthouse suite. He saw a line of photographers line the streets, already snapping pictures of the limo. People dressed in elegant clothes mingled, waiting for permission to go up to the elevator, which means it was completely packed up stairs.

“How are there this many people mid-week?” Joker asked, glad the limo was heavily tinted.

“When Bruce Wayne throws a party, everyone shows up,” Wayne answered with a shrug.

Joker eyed the waist trainer they had banished to the far corner of the limo. He didn’t want to put it back on, which he doubted they could between dinner and the shake, but his figure wouldn’t be hourglass without it.

“I’m not shoving you back into that,” Wayne said, raising an eyebrow at Joker. “You gave me the best ice cream in Gotham. Would seem rude to repay that kindness with cruelty.”

Joker let out a full body cackle, grabbed his purse, and scooted close to Wayne.

“Lead the way,” Joker said, still grinning.

Joker wasn’t used to being photographed unless it was for Harley’s silly scrap books she liked to put together, a mug shot, or the reporters surrounding his court cases. With Harley, it was personal, and he was usually annoyed by her timing, but the girl always caught his good side. He liked using those photos for his cards.

The mug shots were a chance to annoy the police, and therefore never taken seriously. The reporters from the court cases always wanted him to act crazy, to get a money shot, as it were. Joker knew those photos circled whenever he got caught and made it easy to plead insanity. He once bit a reporter’s lip off and spat it into a guard’s face. That picture made the rounds quite often, much to his amusement.

The photographers currently stumbling over each other were none of those. These were sharks with cameras, trying to get lower to see up Joker’s dress. He was tempted to spread his legs and really give them something to look at, but Wayne was pulling him along quickly. Joker turned at the door and blew them all a kiss, earning what felt like a million flashes in return.

“That’s probably going to make the evening news,” Wayne muttered, hitting the button for the elevator, and ignoring the crowds of people who were waiting ahead of them.

Two hotel staffers came and sectioned off the elevator for Joker and Wayne to take it by themselves up the Penthouse. Joker liked playing with people but being stuck in an elevator with strangers he wasn’t allowed to gut was boring. Wayne had told one of them to grab the bags from the limo and bring them up.

When the doors closed leaving only the two of them Joker pushed Wayne against the wall.

“We’ve gone shopping, had dinner and dessert,” Joker began, his fingers playing with Wayne’s silk tie. “Now, we’re going to a party. I wonder, what do we do after that?”

“Depends on how the party goes,” Wayne answered, allowing Joker to crowd his space.

“What if it goes really well?” Joker questioned, batting his eye lashes. “What will I get in reward?”

There was a stretched moment where Joker could tell Wayne wanted to push him away, tell him to go to hell. The air between them seemed to spark as they waited for each other to make a move. Instead of Wayne pushing him, or snapping, Wayne’s playboy mask firmly snapped into place, and Joker found himself almost disappointed by its return.

“If the party goes well, and no one is hurt or threatened,” Wayne began. “I’ll let you use my personal shower.”

“A shower?” Joker questioned, releasing the tie in a huff. “That’s your best offer?”

The smirk that crossed Wayne’s lips was real this time.

“You haven’t seen my shower.”

Joker felt a flutter in his chest and grinned widely at the man just as the elevator dinged to let them know they arrived at the top floor. Wayne held out his arm for Joker, and Joker gladly accepted. They walked out into the party together, both ready to play.

To say the Penthouse Suite was large would be a terrible understatement. The ceilings were at least thirty feet tall with two crystal chandeliers that bounced the light around the spacious room. There was a fireplace in the middle, bisecting the main area from what looked like the fanciest kitchen Joker had seen in any place outside of a top end restaurant. But what really caught Joker’s attention was the view.

The entire back wall was glass that displayed the skyline of Gotham. The city was alive out there, pulsing with energy, and dancing with stars. Gotham had a red tinge to the sky, even during the night, that no where else could replicate. It was something born of decades of Gotham’s breath, and Joker loved it.

“Bruce!” called a woman to their left.

“Mrs. Zellerbach, always a pleasure,” Wayne responded back with his charm. Joker gripped his arm a little harder as the older woman in a beautiful black velvet dress approached them with an older gentleman in a double-breasted suit on her arm.

“Imagine my surprise when you cancelled our evening meeting, then invited us out to a party,” she said without any real reproach in her voice. She sounded more amused than anything.

“Playing hooky is good sometimes,” said the man with her, Joker presumed Mr. Zellerbach. “Keeps a man feeling young.”

Wayne gave them a charming, but fake, smile in return. They didn’t notice.

“Well, when my lovely date asked, how could I say no?” Wayne said, his eyes turning to Joker. He may have looked charming to the two Zellerbachs, but Joker saw the warning, and it made him grin.

“I don’t think a man alive would blame you,” Mr. Zellerbach said with a slight laugh, his gaze going over Joker. “I’m Hank Zellerbach, and this is my lovely wife, Regina.”

“I’m Vivian Ward,” Joker said, putting on a matching smile. If either were surprised by the sound of a gruffer voice than a woman should have, they didn’t look like it.

“You have such a lovely name, my dear,” Regina said. “I feel as though I’ve heard it before. Are you a model by chance?”

“Afraid not,” Joker answered. “Though, I am in the _performance_ industry.”

“Oh, that sounds exciting!” Regina nudged Hank with her elbow. “Hank and I are in business. Dreadfully boring work sitting at a desk all day. I’m sure you have better stories than we do.”

“I’m sure some of them would leave you just _dying_ of laughter,” Joker said, then smiled widely at the two. He could feel Wayne’s grip tighten.

The Zellerbachs smiled back like fools, and Joker found himself amused. It was no wonder how Wayne could get away with his fake persona for so long if there were the kinds of people he surrounded himself with. They had the survival instincts of a June Bug.

“I think it’s time we greeted our other guests,” Wayne said, already leading them away. “I promise to reschedule that meeting if you promise not to tell anyone I played hooky tonight.”

Regina laughed, waving them off with the air of a mother who should chide her child, but found him too amusing. Joker wanted to gag.

They barely took two steps in before another couple greeted them. This time they were a little younger than Wayne and himself.

“Great party Bruce,” said the man with a fake smile a mile wide, his date was barely paying attention to him. She was eyeing Wayne like he was made of candy though, and that made Joker want to rip her face off.

“Glad I could join it,” Wayne answered, and Joker turned his face to avoid laughing at the couple.

It was easier to control himself when he wasn’t looking at the man’s terrible comb over or the wandering eyes of the woman. His face was pressed into Wayne’s shoulder to steady himself. Instead of tensing like Wayne normally would, Joker felt him relax against the touch.

Interesting.

“Hey, is it true you’re going to partner with Luthor? I heard you’re both working on a natural energy plan,” asked the man who obviously wasn’t interested in anything but something worth while to tell a reporter. Joker glanced around for anyone servicing something on a tray he could use to stab the man with. Even if he didn’t do it, it was still a pleasant thought.

“I don’t discuss business at parties,” Wayne answered in a voice that was edged.

“I get it,” the man who needed a good stabbing replied, and then his eyes turned to Joker. Joker was imaging his intestines spilling on the nice wooden floors when he asked, “What’s your name gorgeous?”

“Gorgeous, actually,” Joker snapped back with a sharp smile.

“If I may say, the name certainly fits,” he replied, oblivious. His date rolled her eyes. “How did you and Bruce meet?”

“On the corner of 5th and Park,” Joker answered with a deadpan expression. “Where you meet all your dates.”

Wayne excused them before the stunned man could reply, but Joker clearly heard his date say something in harsh tones as they left. He waited for Wayne to reprimand him, or try to, but he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in to whisper, “That’s _definitely_ going to be in the evening news.”

Joker bit his lip to keep from laughing and exposing himself. His glance at Wayne’s face told him Wayne wasn’t angry with the comment. If anything, he looked amused.

Joker could see the rest of the party goers nudge each other, and start getting closer to where him and Wayne were walking. The room was large, but there was also a crowd in the room. Joker could see many of the guests were clearly already on their second or third glass of wine, and there was a couple towards the balcony who were making out much to the disgust of the near by group. Though, one man had his phone out taking picture of it, laughing.

 Wayne, instead of going towards the throng of people, moved them closer to the hallway, and turned to address the crowd. A few people started clapping when they saw them, and Joker felt himself internally preening at the glances he was getting from the various people.

There was a chorus of people saying Wayne’s name, and general chatter going up at the sight of their host arriving. Wayne allowed it to go on for a few seconds before he held up a hand, and the room fell silent.

“Thank you everyone for coming,” Wayne began. “As usual, I arrive late to my own party.” A few scattered chuckles. “My date and I arrived from dinner. We will be getting into more comfortable clothes and rejoining everyone soon. In the meantime, I believe I over stocked my bar this month, and if you all feel generous this evening, please assist.”

Those that had drinks cheered to the invitation of more drinks. The rest applauded Wayne as though he made a grand speech. Joker clenched his jaw to remain silent. These fools followed along with the fake words, and charm that Wayne wore like a loose suit. Not even one of them realized the tension in Wayne’s muscles being near people, or the way his smiles never reached his eyes.

Joker noticed though.

Wayne gently tugged his arm to snap Joker out of his thoughts. Wayne gave him a questioning look, but Joker shrugged. It wasn’t a conversation for here, or maybe ever. Wayne being fake for the public wasn’t any of Joker’s concern, and just as quickly as his anger came, it left.

Wayne led him into a new room where there were no guests in it. Like the living space, it had vaulted ceilings, light grey walls, and a window that peaked over the Gotham skyline. There was a huge bed in the center of the room against the wall, with white sheets, a mountain of pillows, and Joker couldn’t help it.

Without another thought he raced over to the bed, leaping, and landed in the middle, sinking into it like a cloud.

The bed a soft and wrapped Joker up like a hug, removing any tension he had from the day instantly. His face was smashed into the comforter to the point he couldn’t breathe, but Joker didn’t want to move. He never wanted to move again.

He didn’t even feel Wayne getting near him, until he felt the touch against his back. Joker pushed himself up only enough to see what Wayne wanted.

“I had the hotel staff put the other outfits in here for you to change into,” Wayne rumbled, as though reluctant to speak. “Or, we can stay here instead of returning to the party. I’m sure no one would be surprised that we never returned.”

Joker grinned, rolling himself onto his back, and highly aware the dress slipped up his thighs, nearly flashing Wayne. He noticed Wayne’s eyes didn’t move from his, and it made him laugh.

“Nice try,” Joker said, patting Wayne’s cheek.

“Worth a shot,” Wayne shrugged as though expecting to be caught.

Joker pulled up his feet, placing them in Wayne’s lap. Wayne tensed.

“I don’t think I can bend in this dress. You’re on shoe removal duty,” Joker said, wiggling his toes.

Joker could see Wayne resisting the urge to sigh, as his fingers started working to remove the clasp on each shoe. Even though the shoes were comfortable, his feet still felt instant relief on their removal. With the full body makeup on, it was almost impossible to see all the tiny cuts Joker was sporting due to his trip through the woods, and then landing in bushes from a second story complex.

The sting of air was a small cost to pay as Joker stretched his feet, rotating his ankles, and enjoying the freedom.

Wayne pushed his feet off and stood.

“I’m going to go into my closet and change for the party. I suggest you take the time to do the same,” Wayne said, walking across the room without another word, and disappearing into a room that looked full of black suits.

Having a few moments to himself in the bedroom of Gotham’s most eligible bachelor was too good of an opportunity. It was surprisingly sparse of anything not clearly chosen by whatever Gotham decorator Wayne hired. There was a single piece that stood out though and Joker approached it. Joker went to the side table next to the bed and saw a simple frame with a picture in it.

A disgustingly well-dressed couple was smiling at the camera.

They were Wayne’s parents, Joker had no doubt about it. Their earlier conversation filtering back to Joker and he realized how right his talk was. Joker couldn’t spot a single personal item in the whole penthouse that could be considered sentimental.

This was the one object Wayne kept that meant a damn to him. And it was at his bedside table. The last thing he would see before he went to bed each night, and the first thing he saw.

Joker wanted to laugh and gag at the same time.

Joker spotted the boxes at the end of the bed and decided he would at least make himself presentable. They were white boxes with a simple lace tying them shut. Joker pulled the first one over and opened it.

It was a lovely champagne colored silk blouse, black tailored pants with matching jacket, and a small box with jewelry to go with it. Joker was happy to ditch the bra, dress, and stockings for something he could move easier in. He also liked the cut of the blouse which would lay a sinful two inches above his navel.

The gels which gave him a decent bust were sticky on one side. Joker hoped they would hold up for the rest of the night without a bra supporting them, but the rooms were cool. He doubted he would sweat them off.

When he finished getting dressed, and found the box containing his flats, Wayne emerged from the closet in an equally wicked outfit.

Wayne was by no means a slouch in his work suit today, but the outfit he chose was perfect for him. The tailored jacket wasn’t boxed at the shoulders like his other one, letting the natural round of his muscular shoulders shine through. The simple white shirt peaking beneath the black vest with silver buttons, and no tie left him looking more casual. Joker also appreciated the tighter pants and could see the flex of Wayne’s thighs as he strode forward.

“I paid those ladies far too little,” Wayne muttered as though only speaking to himself, as his hand reached out. Joker watched as Wayne pulled back at the last moment.

“Thinking about getting fresh, Mr. Wayne?” Joker asked with a smirk. He felt a thrill in his chest at Wayne losing some of his control and silently vowed to make him do it again.

“Never with a lady such as yourself,” Wayne responded, offering his arm. Joker giggled, enjoying the play, and accepted.

“We should return to my party,” Joker said.

“Your party?”

“Of course!” Joker pressed into Wayne’s side as they walked back. “I’m the best dressed woman in Gotham. How could it not be?”

Wayne didn’t argue the point.

Their return to the party was greeted with more applause, and fanfare. There wasn’t a big change between when they showed it the first time, and now. The guests were still well on their way to becoming drunk, and people were still attempting to speak with them every time their current conversation paused.

Joker may have helped himself to a few pieces of jewelry at the occasional guest who got far too close. To be fair, he only did it to the richest and the obnoxious guests, which was most.

Joker found himself answering the same questions repeatedly. To keep it interesting, Joker kept changing to story. Some people heard a tale of Joker falling from a cliff, and Wayne swooped in like a hero to save him from certain death. Other heard the tale of Wayne dating Joker’s friend, but then they realized they were in love, so they ran off into the sunset together. Or, they were once childhood sweethearts broken apart by a family disagreement, only to write each other letters, kindling their romance until they could find one another again.

Each telling was slightly different, and every time the crowd ate it up.

Wayne never stopped Joker from telling the stories. In fact, he would nod seriously along with it, providing details where needed, or answering a question with an absurd fact. On the occasion they had someone over hear a different telling than what tale they heard prior, they still did not call them out on their bold-faced lies.

Joker was practically giddy with delight by the time Wayne was tugging him back to the bedroom.

“I should go to more of your parties,” Joker announced when they were alone in the bedroom, tossing off his shoes. “Those idiots lapped up every word!”

“It’ll certainly get the rumor mill going,” Wayne replied, pulling off his jacket, and putting it on the chair. “I think we’ll be the talk of the town for the next month at least.”

“I'm _always_ the talk of the town, darling,” Joker tugged off his own jacket, dropping it on the floor with a thud from the weight in his pockets as he headed towards what he believed was the bathroom. “I’m just used to it being for more thrilling reasons than scandalous romances.”

He could hear Wayne picking up his jacket.

“Did you rob the party guests?” Wayne asked.

Joker turned around in the doorway, grinning.

“I only agreed not to hurt anyone. I said nothing about robbing them blind,” he said with a giggle, and turned.

Joker flipped on the light for the next room, and discovered it was indeed the bathroom. What he also realized is the giant glass box in the middle of the marble floor was a shower. With twelve shower heads, and touch pads.

Wayne came up behind him, as Joker was frozen in the entryway.

“Do you want to use it?” Wayne asked.

“Get out,” Joker said, pushing against Wayne’s chest until the man moved. “I’m living here now.”

Joker shut the door, and gleefully skipping into the shower, dropping his clothes as he went. He touched the buttons on the side, and water from five of the shower heads turned on immediately, but there was a problem. It was ice cold.

Joker jumped out, eyeing the shower with distrust. Then, he marched to the door, pulled it open to see Wayne waiting for him, and pulled him in.

“Make it work,” Joker demanded, crossing his arms, and tapping his foot.

It only took a few seconds for Wayne to get over the fact that Joker was naked in front of him, before he sighed, going over to the wall panel. He went through a few settings and turned up the temperature until steam started to rise. Joker insisted all the shower heads be turned on at once, and Wayne obeyed.

Joker was delighted to find out it had a light setting, and the whole room would change. The white tiles would reflect perfectly, allowing the whole room to seem like it was under water. Joker watched as it replicated waves, and the ocean, providing sounds through hidden speakers. Just as quickly, it changed to a tropical island setting. Another was a mountain top.

Joker made him go through every setting until they ended up back at the beach setting. The lights were a bit bright, but it was relaxing. Joker jumped into the shower, enjoying the spray from the multiple shower heads, and inspecting the many cleaning supplies Wayne stocked.

Joker saw Wayne begin to step away.

“Get in,” Joker said without turning to see if his instructions were followed. He was tempted to turn around, to threaten Wayne, just a bit, when he heard the man start stripping. Joker grinned.

This was a perfect scenario. He loved making the man uncomfortable, Wayne could operate the shower to fit Joker’s needs, and Joker would get to see the body hidden under those clothes. He turned when Wayne got in, and nearly dropping the bottle in his hands.

He knew Wayne was going to be muscular, but he had no idea.

Bruce Wayne was in possession of a body that every person drooled over. His muscles were perfectly sculpted, distinct from one another, and beautiful. His broad chest was clearly shaved or waxed, allowing Joker a full view, which he took advantage of. Wayne’s whole body appeared to be what most people got photoshopped to look like, and Joker found himself a bit angry at it.

Wasn’t enough that Wayne had power, money, and looks. He had to have a body like that. And when Joker checked lower, it didn’t help. Wayne was stacked in every way.

The most intriguing thing was all the tiny scars scattered across his body. They tended to bend with the muscles, suggesting muscular damage, which wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. The man clearly worked out far more than the average person.

Another piece to an ever-growing puzzle.

Joker let out a wolf whistle at Wayne, who glared back.

“Only human,” Joker said in a sing-song voice, turning back to the cleaning products.

He was tired of being in full makeup, and luckily, Wayne had some makeup remover that worked on airbrush. Though, when Wayne would ever need that, Joker didn’t know. Joker poured out a generous amount of the remover and started scrubbing.

It took several minutes, and quite a bit of awkward maneuvering to reach certain areas, before Joker started seeing his own skin color coming back. Though, he also saw the bruises being exposed. He thought they would have faded by now, but his play with Harvey must have irritated the ones on his wrists. They were still dark in the center, though were turning a lovely shade of green on the edges. The ones wrapping around his ribs were already fading from Two-Face’s punches. He imagines his face must also still sport the one across his jaw from the first hit.

He touched his fingertips to the area, and it was mildly tender when pressed, but overall was remarkably well healed. Joker was just glad it wasn’t swollen as that would have caused his face to look lopsided. The photos that would show up of him and Wayne arriving better have been from a good angle, or Joker was going to have violent words with the magazines who printed them.

A few more minutes, and Joker was completely washed of all makeup, and basked in the hot water. He was almost entirely relaxed when he felt a pair of eyes on him. He turned to see Wayne staring at him.

“Anyone ever tell you its rude to stare?” Joker asked with a grin.

“What happened to you?” Wayne asked instead, stepping forward, and frowning. “You’re covered in bruises… and you’re bleeding.”

Joker’s hand went to his throat and cursed.

“Not there,” Wayne said, pointing to Joker’s feet, which were tinting the water pink.

Joker giggled, touching the bite to make sure it was still sealed, which he could now feel the glue there. That was one less thing to worry about.

“I had a bit of a rough week,” Joker answered, then stepped closer to Wayne, who stood his ground. Joker grinned, barely an inch separating them now. “Why the concern Mr. Wayne?”

“You’re hurt,” Wayne said as though that explained everything, and perhaps it did. Wayne had a bleeding heart, that much was easy to see, and Joker had no problems with it, if it didn’t interfere with his plans.

“I’m usually hurt,” Joker said with a shrug. “If it’s not from Batman beating me black and blue, it’s an ill-timed explosion, Two-Face being playful, a fight or riot I get caught up in, or just plain bad luck. Sometimes, I ask for it, other times, I’m on the receiving end of a vengeful person who’s loved one I killed. What difference does it make that I’m hurt _now_?”

Wayne’s jaw worked as though he wanted to say something and thought better of it. Instead, he walked out of the shower, and started digging into the full-sized cabinet. Joker followed him, curious, when Wayne pulled out a rather stacked first aid kit.

“Let me at least patch up your feet,” Wayne said, moving to turn off the water. “They have to be aching between the cuts, and the heels.”

Joker was tempted to tell him where he could shove his concern, but there was something so sweetly earnest about his request. Joker let himself be led to the chair by the vanity. Wayne put a soft, warm towel around Joker’s shoulders, then knelt to start working on Joker’s feet.

Wayne opened the kit and grabbed Joker by the ankle, lifting the foot for inspection. There were numerous cuts, tiny but stinging in pain. Many of them weren't bleeding but the one Joker got from running through the woods had reopened. Being soaked twice in one day and stuck into tight shoes was apparently too much for the scab to hold.

Wayne cleaned the wound properly, putting a healing gel on it. He moved on, turning Joker's foot as he found ever last cut, even ones Joker couldn't feel. They were all cleaned out and his foot was then wrapped with an overkill of bandages.

Wayne gently set his foot down then picked up the other one to do the same.

Joker watched in silence, enjoying the view of a handsome man literally on his knees in front of him. He also liked to watch Wayne's facial expressions as he worked. The man went into an almost trance like state while cleaning, which suggested practice. Lots of practice. That was only interesting because someone like Bruce Wayne shouldn't need to clean his own wounds.

Another puzzle piece was added to Joker's growing collection. He’d have to start putting it together soon, even if he didn’t feel inclined to see the picture.

Suddenly, Joker let out a hiss and instinctively grabbed Wayne by the throat.

Wayne had run a hand feather light up Joker's ankle most likely to check for more wounds, but it had set Joker's skin on fire. His sensitive skin jolted, and burned under light touches, which usually wasn't an issue. No one touched Joker with soft caresses after all.

But Wayne had.

Wayne was dead still, his hand frozen in place on Joker's ankle, and watched Joker with an intensity. Joker would have normally been pleased at such a look, but his skin was still echoing with the touch.

“Don't. _EVER_. Touch me like that again,” Joker seethed, his fingers digging harder into Wayne's throat.

“Ok,” was the gasping response.

Joker let his finger sit for a little longer, making sure the warning was taken seriously, before slowly unwrapping his hand from around Wayne's throat. He watched as the man took in a sharp breath, barely stopping a coughing fit. The skin went from white, to an alarming red, and then to pink. During that time, neither of them moved.

“May I continue?” Wayne asked quietly, his hand still holding Joker's foot.

Instead of answering, Joker reached up and ran a hand through Wayne's hair. It was as close to an apology as Joker would ever give. He liked Wayne and he had a good time today. It wasn't Wayne's fault his skin was an over sensitive thing.

Wayne continued his work until both feet were wrapped.

They both stood, each wrapped in a towel drying themselves as they exited the bathroom. Most people would attempt to fill the silence, and Joker was glad Wayne didn't try. Wayne went over to his closet, pulled out a black silk robe, and handed it Joker who put it on. Wayne grabbed a pair of cotton sleep pants.

“Are you staying the night?” Wayne asked.

Joker answered by flinging himself full body into the bed.

“According to the rumors, all your dates make it to your bed,” Joker said, wiggling down into the soft comforter.

“Which reminds me,” Wayne began sitting on the edge next to Joker. “Why did you want to spend the day with me? I didn't think I was even on your radar.”

“You weren't until yesterday,” Joker admitted. The bed was softer than he remembered. “Though, I’ve always wanted to come to one of your parties and rob the place. Leave behind a few bodies maybe.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t,” Wayne said, then eyed the jacket with full pockets of stolen goods. Then clarified. “Leave bodies, that is.”

“Didn’t know I had it in me to behave?” Joker grinned, comfortable, and warm in the bed. “I just need the right motivation is all and a date with you was enough today.”

“I get the feeling all this,” Wayne gestured to the boxes of clothes, and to the door where the party was most likely still going on. “Is because of something else. Something you’re not sharing with me.”

“Well, aren’t you a little perceptive thing,” Joker cooed, then let out a short laugh. “And what makes you think I should tell you anything, even if there is something else to tell?”

Joker felt the slight movement in the bed as Wayne laid down next to him. He wasn’t close enough to touch without reaching, but he was there, and vulnerable. Wayne turned on his side, pushed up on his arm so they could see each other’s faces while they spoke.

“Because this is part of the date,” Wayne said.

“Are we pillow talking, Mr. Wayne?” Joker asked, amused, and flirty.

“We took a shower together, and now we’re in bed. I think you can call me Bruce,” Wayne answered back with equal charm.

Joker watched his face, which was warm, and inviting. The whole day Wayne… Bruce, had been quite a host. He did insult Joker’s outfit which would usually result in a knife to the gut. He also attempted to get into Joker’s head at dinner, which was also an offence Joker rarely took from anyone who wasn’t named Harley. But he did buy Joker clothes, took him to a nice dinner, and let him use that amazing shower.

He was also incredibly comfortable in an over sized bed that made everything harder to think about.

“Why don’t you start us off, Bruce?” Joker asked. “Tell me, why did you put up with me all day?”

“You were going to hurt people if I didn’t,” Bruce answered automatically.

“Oh, are you still using that excuse?” Joker asked, closing his eyes, and twiddling his thumbs on his stomach. “I guess that’s why you didn’t have your butler call the police to alert Batman or try to get away from me when I ran out of the limo to grab a shake? Right when you could have drove off, leaving me looking like a rich woman, practically catnip for the criminals of the Narrows, defenseless. I doubt I would have made it past the block before someone had a go at me.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. They both knew that excuse didn’t hold up under any light. Joker was far too clever for that, and Bruce should have understood that by now.

“In the beginning, it was to protect people, and maybe punish you for threatening to harm them,” Bruce said softly. Joker opened his eyes to watch Bruce struggle with being honest. “I wanted to see how far your ruse would go. I thought for sure at the shops you would give, but you didn’t. You kept your word, and it made me want to keep mine.”

Bruce paused.

“Go on,” Joker encouraged, his lips twisting into a smile. “I know there’s more.”

“Your turn,” Bruce countered. “I’ll say the rest after you answer why you wanted to spend the day with me.”

“Go on a _date_ with you,” Joker corrected, and shrugged. It was a fair enough trade. “I’ve been doing some soul searching this week. Trying something new.”

“And you landed on having a date with me?”

“Who better to learn how to date than a serial dater like you?” Joker responded with a giggle, finding Bruce’s pout adorable. “I’ve been stuck, seeing the same person for years. The relationship is great, don’t get me wrong. There’s still more than enough passion to go around, and I _love_ our routine but… lately, it feels like he only does it because he must, not because he _wants_ to. We need a spark, something to light that flame again! I hear a little jealousy goes a long way to kindling old feelings.”

“He?” Bruce questioned, a slight frown and his eyes darting to the large bruises on Joker’s neck. “I thought you had a girlfriend. That clown girl.”

“ _Harley_?” Joker grinned. “Oh, her and I are playmates. She is like an apprentice. Lots of potential that one, but she’s not my partner. My _soul-mate_. Only Batman fills those shoes.” Then added with only a slight bitterness, “Besides, Harley and Ivy tied the knot last week in Vegas, _without me_ mind you.”

Bruce blinked, taking in all the information. Joker could almost hear the clogs turning in the pretty boy’s head.

“In your mind, you and Batman are in a long-term relationship and you’re cheating on Batman… _with me_ … because you think he’s not into you as much anymore?” Bruce pieced together, his frown becoming deeper as he puzzled it out.

“Give a gold star to the billionaire!” Joker exclaimed, then ran a hand through Bruce’s hair, gripping it tightly enough that Bruce winced. “And what’s with this, _in your mind_ , bullshit? Just because you don’t understand it like everyone else in this city, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“From the news it seems Batman is still pretty obsessed with you,” Bruce said, grimacing when Joker pulled again at his hair, but making no moves to stop him. “He comes after you before any other villain.”

“He does,” Joker hissed, pulling Bruce close. “Unless _Catwoman_ is in town. Then he disappears! _FOR DAYS_! Tell me you don’t see what is going on here, you’ve been clever so far. If your significant other suddenly does a no-show on date night when another woman is in town, what does that mean?”

Joker suddenly released Bruce and fisted his own hair in utter frustration.

“I plan my whole life around Batman! I make sure every time I show up, there’s a _good reason_ for him to bring his best. I challenge him, make him better. He _needs_ someone to make it hard, or else he goes _insane with paranoia_ , and I know this! I _plan_ on it. I make sure he feels his loses, and his wins are never without cost. I give him purpose, something no one else does, and how does he _thank me_?! He disappears at the first hint of a _MEOW_!”

Joker’s breathing became erratic during his rant, and his scalp throbbed as his hands jerked harder than intended. He was sure to be down quite a few strands of his green locks, and he didn’t know why, but this bothered him. He pulled a hand back, watching the hairs fall through his fingers.

Catwoman was lucky she skipped town. Joker was riled up enough he could go for skinny her flesh and leaving it over the Bat-signal as a reminder that people shouldn’t touch what they didn’t own.

He almost punched Bruce when the man grabbed his hand. Instead, he turned to see the billionaire boiling in a rage. The hand gripping Joker tightened hard enough to hurt, but Joker didn’t tug away. He wanted to be burned by the wrath of Bruce Wayne just to see how it felt.

“You kill people, _torture them_ , because you think you’re doing Batman a _favor_?” Bruce asked in a surprisingly calm voice, but it was laced with danger. Joker felt his heart beat speed up but not from his own anger and certainly not in fear.

Oh no, this was _excitement_. Excitement he usually only felt with one person. Joker licked his lips and knew Bruce would probably be horrified if he knew the state of Joker below his silk robe.

“Not a favor. He _hates_ it. The death, the murder. But it motivates him like nothing else,” Joker answered, his voice was breathless, and he fought down a moan when Bruce’s grip caused his knuckle bones to rub together.

“Why? Why do you do it?” Bruce asked, and Joker knew he wanted to look horrified by what Joker was revealing, but he wasn’t. He was intrigued, and that is the only reason Joker answered truthfully.

“Because he’d be _dead_ otherwise,” Joker said, his eyes going to Bruce’s stern lips, and clenched jaw. The heat of Bruce’s body was starting to seep into Joker’s skin and made him shiver. “I’ve held up my end, now it’s yours. Tell me Bruce, why did you follow me out of the limo?”

Bruce’s grip on his hand loosened, and that intense fire was now burning with a different match as his fingers trailed down Joker’s arm. Joker felt his groin stir at the sight of Bruce struggling to regain his control. Well, Joker couldn’t have that.

“Bruce, please,” Joker said, feeling the heat from Bruce’s body rise with his plea.

“Despite who you are, and how much I loathe what you do to others, I wanted to get to know you,” Bruce answered, his voice deep, and quiet. His eyes were on Joker’s and left no doubt the meaning of his next words. “I was surprised by you all day. And by myself. With how much I’ve wanted to touch you. Wanted to be with you. Even now, I just want to strip off your robe, and touch every inch of you until there isn’t any part of you I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to ask a girl twice, Bruce,” Joker giggled, but it was forced, as Joker could barely breathe with the intensity of Bruce’s gaze on him. He was enjoying the hand that slipped around his wrist. He waited for the squeeze on his bruised wrist, something sharp to really get his arousal raging, but Bruce didn’t hurt him.

“I don’t dole out pain in my bed, Joker,” Bruce said, being far clearer about his intentions than Joker thought he would be, and his thumb swiping over the bruise. “I can’t give you that, but I promise, you’ll like what I do.”

 Joker paused to think it over. Since his dip in the chemicals, touches without a firmness to them hurt like hell. There was a threshold of contact Joker needed to receive pleasure, and it was easier to use pain, but Bruce had surprised Joker a few times today with his insightfulness.

Joker’s eyes went to the marks on Bruce’s neck where Joker had grabbed him in the bathroom. If Bruce disappointed him, he could always kill him. Or push him to hurt Joker the way he liked it. Joker already knew Bruce’s trigger for violence.

“Give me your best Bruce,” Joker answered with a smirk, and felt his arousal spark to life as Bruce answered him by pulling the tie on his robe.

The first thing Joker noticed was the way Bruce touched him. Nothing was light, nor was any of it harsh. It was all pressure. Each move was deliberate, calculated, and no hesitation. When Bruce’s hand cupped Joker’s face, the press of his fingers was felt to the bone, but true to Bruce’s words, there wasn’t any pain.

It was consistent, demanding, focused pressure, and Joker found himself quickly drowning in it.

Bruce moved with grace, sliding down Joker’s body while leaving burning kisses in his wake. The robe parted under Bruce’s hands, and Joker shivered against the anticipation or the exposure, he could barely tell. He just knew Bruce’s heat, and focus were already dizzying.

Bruce turned his head up to look Joker in the eye as his face hovered over Joker’s cock. Being a gentleman and asking for consent, which shouldn’t have been such a turn on, but it was. Joker jerked, a nod, then watched as Bruce lowered himself, mouth enclosing his member. Bruce flattened his tongue on the underside of Joker’s cock, pressing it into the roof of his mouth, and gripped the base with one hand. His forearms supported his weight and held Joker still under him.

 It was one of the most arousing things Joker had ever seen and took every bit of his self-control not to cum instantly.

Unlike Joker’s other partners, Bruce wasn’t smirking at Joker’s loss of control, or trying to impress Joker with his skills. There was a silent confidence to Bruce, as he remained patiently at Joker’s hip for the trembling to stop, and Joker to regain his composure. The whole time, Bruce’s sharp blue eyes watched, and waited.

When Joker took a deep breath, and exhaled, Bruce began his slow work.

Joker dug his heels into the mattress, his legs instinctually wanting to part, to make room for the pleasure expanding from his groin. Bruce adapted, shifting his weight, and arms, without ever pausing in his ministrations. It felt like the whole of Joker’s being was below Bruce’s mouth, surrounded by wet heat, and the world narrowed down to just the two of them.

Joker could barely hear the dirty sucking sounds as Bruce moved up and down his shaft, or the multitude of explicit words in praise tumbling out of his own mouth. Cotton could have been shoved in his ears for all he knew since everything felt distant, almost removed from him. His eyes lost focus, everything went fuzzy, and Joker wept in ecstasy as he came hard in Bruce’s depraved mouth.

He trembled, quivered, and writhed on the soft bed, as wave after wave of bliss washed over him. He was barely aware of his body sweating profusely, and his legs wrapped around Bruce’s chest, squeezing in time with the swells of his release.

In the storm of his mind, Bruce was the rock he clung to when the waves threatened to pull him under.

The pressure of Bruce’s touch brought him back to the present. Joker lifted his head to Bruce stroking his side, watching Joker intently.

“Do you treat all your partners like this?” Joker mumbled, still feeling disorientated, but oddly refreshed from his orgasm.

“No,” came the short reply, combined with a deadpan expression left Joker giddy.

Joker allowed his head to fall back as laughter bubbled up. He tried to stifle it, as he’s been told numerous times laughing during sex was a negative, but he felt so joyous! His hands covered his face, attempting once more to stop the onslaught, his chest shaking uncontrollably. There were rare times in Joker’s life when he laughed out of pure joy, and not out of horrible irony. It was precious and left him feeling drained after. He couldn’t afford to be that way when he was out of his element.

When he snorted, all hope was lost.

He rolled to his stomach on the bed, clutching a pillow to his face, laughing uproariously into it. His eyes had been shut since the beginning, so he could only imagine what Bruce looked like, and the confused puppy dog expression his brain conjured up only made him everything worsen.

He was so busy losing himself, he didn’t feel the shift in the mattress as Bruce left, or when Bruce returned. He only paused when Bruce straddled his hips, and warmed, wet hands pressed into his back.

All left over tension in Joker’s body dissolved within seconds. Laying on his stomach with Bruce pressing on all the knots in his back, Joker was lucky if he wasn’t drooling. Bruce’s hands must have massage oil on them, as they left an odd tingling sensation on Joker’s back, and the strong earthy scent behind. Joker was forced to turn his head to breathe and let out an embarrassing groan of appreciation when Bruce quickly pushed down causing a series of Joker’s bones to pop.

“Keep this up and I’ll never leave,” Joker warned, but between the drool, and his lack of muscle tension may have been incomprehensible.

Bruce seemed to understand, making a humming sound, then working on another knot near Joker’s lower back. His hands were bigger than Joker expected, and stronger too. His fingers dug into the flesh enough to trace the muscles, locating any points of tension, then Bruce focused them until they gave way under his labor.

Not to mention, all the pushing of Joker’s lower back was starting to get the blood pumping again. If this was Bruce’s goal, then he was nailing it.

Or, about to nail Joker.

Joker buried his face in a pillow again as the laughter at his own pun made him delirious. Bruce had the good sense not to ask what Joker found so amusing, and for that, Joker found he liked Bruce.

It was a treat when Joker found someone who had a healthy amount of fear for him but didn’t quake in his presence. The respect Bruce had for Joker, taking him at his word that bad things would happen if he didn’t follow along, but enough of a spine to take liberties well… Joker may have severely misjudged the playboy.

He would have to pay more attention.

Before Joker could make a comment about taking things up a notch, Bruce sidled down to his thighs, remaining careful of the welts left behind by Two-Face, cupping Joker’s rear with his hands and kneaded. Joker pushed back against those hands and moaned. His whole body was tingling still and thrumming with an ache of want.

Joker jumped at the first touch of Bruce’s tongue. Like all his other touches, it was firm, not teasing, and Joker felt the tongue glide inside him instantly. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out as Bruce began working Joker’s hole.

This man was going to slowly kill him, and Joker didn’t have it in him to stop him.

“I didn’t know you were this good,” Joker mewled, working up to his forearms, needing to push back against the man opening him up. He could feel himself quivering as Bruce stroked the sensitive flesh in him. “You’ve done it now Wayne. Mind’s made up. I’m never leaving your bed.”

Joker was shoved off his arms for that comment, and Bruce swiped his tongue across flat across his ass, making Joker whine. The hands were still on his cheeks, squeezing, and massaging them in time with Bruce’s tongue, until Joker was driven mindless.

That’s when Bruce reached over to a draw and pulled out lube. Joker felt the finger prodding and slip inside with ease. There wasn’t an ounce of tension left in Joker’s whole body outside his cock, which was straining and leaking against the mattress.

Bruce pulled back to slip in another finger, and then pressed against Joker’s prostate with determined precision.

Joker wanted to beg, damn him he did, for Bruce to just get in. To fuck him raw, and to hurt him, but Bruce had promised no pain in his bed. That Joker would like it, and hell if he didn’t _love_ this. It was the best lay he'd had in his life, not that he would admit it aloud.

Bruce rolled Joker to his side and got behind him. A hand guided one of Joker’s legs up, the other wrapped under and around Joker’s body, pulling him close. By the time Bruce was pressing inside, Joker was a babbling mess, arms twisted behind him to grab at Bruce’s head, tangling his fingers in the man’s hair. Bruce eased himself in at a constant, slow thrust until he bottomed out, leaving them both gasping.

“Bruce…” Joker panted, his mind fuzzy, and whole-body tingling.

Bruce leaned over, capturing Joker’s panting mouth in a searing kiss, as he started grinding his hips. Joker wanted to make a comment about dirty mouths, about Bruce, something to spark some anger, but when Bruce rolled his nipple, and hit that spot inside him, Joker’s mind whited out.

There was nothing outside of them. Joker’s world narrowed to Bruce. When Joker opened his eyes, he saw Bruce, and only Bruce, who’s sole focus was on Joker. Joker felt the overwhelming heat of their bodies, their chest heaving at the same pace, each desperately pulling at other. Bruce was surrounding him with his arms, and legs, neither wanting an inch between them.

It wasn’t only in body Bruce captivated him with. His intense mind worked behind his eyes, calculating his moves, and anticipating Joker’s needs. He was also unlike any partner Joker had been with in relations to needing admiration. When Joker would praise him, instead of taking that as an opportunity to stroke his ego, Bruce took it as instructions.

Joker complimented Bruce’s cock, Bruce rotated his thrusts to allow Joker to feel it better. Words of praise for his lips gained kisses on his cheeks, jaw, and mouth. His hands being strong, earned a tight hold from his arms, caresses along his ribs and teasing on his nipples.

It was no wonder Joker felt the bloom of release building quickly.

“Touch me,” Joker pleaded, and was instantly rewarded.

Bruce’s hand stroked him in a firm grip, the massage oil left over giving just enough lubricant to ease the movement. That clever hand working with Bruce’s thrusts to fan the flames of arousal in Joker’s stomach until it burned.

All it took was looking down to see Bruce’s tan, perfect skin against his pale flesh for the world burst behind Joker’s eyelids for a second time, and his release to pour, as Bruce rocked into him, milking his orgasm until Joker had to grab his wrist to stop him. Joker felt his fingers cramp, having locked at an impossible grip in Bruce’s hair, but the man didn’t complain.

Bruce nuzzled his nose into Joker’s hair, breathing in his scent, as though restraining himself the urge to keep thrusting into the Joker’s heat. He waited for Joker to release his iron hold on his scalp and wrist, and for the aftershocks of orgasm to fade. He kissed Joker’s temple, wrapped a leg around Joker’s hips, and rolled them to the other side.

Joker let out a giggle as he was maneuvered to rest on his other side, leaving the wet stain behind. His body was boneless against Bruce, and he sighed in contentment.

“I don’t want you to cramp your neck,” Bruce muttered, readjusting his hold on Joker’s body, then pulling him into a quick kiss.

“Wouldn’t want all your good work to go to waste,” Joker said, then hummed in pleasure as Bruce started to move inside him, stroking his face. “I’m going to be honest, I’ve never cum three times in a single night before and with the way things are going, I might.”

“Is that a goal?” Bruce asked.

“Only if you want it to be,” Joker smirked, his hand cupped Bruce’s face. Their eyes connected, and Joker practically felt Bruce’s desire through them when he asked, “Do you?”

Bruce responded by capturing his lips, tongue sliding into Joker’s mouth, as his hips snapped up hard enough to knock the breath out of Joker’s lungs. Joker’s eyes rolled back as Bruce picked up the pace, keeping his thrusts sharp, as he sucked on Joker’s tongue.

Joker pulled away, nuzzling his nose into Bruce’s neck, and hearing the man’s pleased groans, and hums in his ear. Joker found he loved the sounds and seared them into his memory. They would make excellent company in Arkham when the nights became lonely.

With the second orgasm faded away, and Joker’s body in a gentle hum of gratification without the burning need for release, he was able to watch Bruce this time. The way his brows furrowed as he increased speed, and the crinkle of skin near his eyes when he knew he struck Joker’s prostate. There wasn’t any tugging of a smile, or curl of the lips on Bruce, but there was happiness in his face, Joker could see.

It was hidden around his eyes, and Joker found himself twisting his body, attempting to keep eye contact with Bruce. As though Bruce knew, he pulled out of Joker, flipped him on his back, kneeled between his legs, and pushed back in.

Joker arched his spine, wrapping his legs around Bruce’s waist as Bruce pulled his ass onto his kneeling thighs. Bruce used his hands gripping Joker’s hips to pull him up as Bruce thrust down. Oh, this position would do. Bruce’s cock drove just a little deeper, and smoother. He could also feel Bruce’s delicious weight as he pulled Bruce down to his forearms, trapping his own half-hard cock between their bodies, and cupped Bruce’s warm face with his hands.

He wished he didn’t have to blink, as he absorbed Bruce’s expressions as he fucked him. There was an honesty there, that wasn’t anywhere else in Bruce during their day together. It was like watching a performer take off their act, a stripping away of pressures, falsehoods, and pretend.

 _Oh_ , and Bruce kept his eyes locked on Joker too. There could be anything happening outside their little bubble, and neither would notice. They pressed into each other, their bodies working in tandem like dancing, or a fight, to bring pleasure. Joker’s lips parted, unable to close it as moans spilled from him, while Bruce remained calm, focused, and almost silent except for his heavy breathing. Joker wondered how Bruce could look so peaceful while fucking him hard, while Joker was feeling his body being wrecked, his control waning with every second. Then, Bruce’s eyes fluttered, but didn’t shut, as his hands flexed, veins in his neck jumped, his hips faltered, and _oh_ …

Joker watched enraptured by the sight of Bruce Wayne falling apart in pleasure. His jaw loosening, his brows tight, nostrils flaring, his pupils blowing out, nearly black with a blazing circle of blue around it, flush cheeks, and his voice, low… _dark_ … saying Joker’s name over, and over again as though Joker were the only being that existed in the world as his spilled his release deep into Joker’s body.

Joker licked his lips, teeth scrapping at them with desire to taste Bruce but couldn’t pull his eyes away. The flush on Bruce’s face was a stark contrast to Joker’s hands, which gripped his face so hard it must be painful for Bruce, as they appeared in perfect symmetry. Bruce looked absolutely broken. Joker felt a sharp ache through his chest like a shot, as only one word came to mind:

 _Beautiful_.

Bruce Wayne is beautiful, and _his_.

 ** _HIS_**.

Joker protectively wrapped his arms around Bruce, holding him tightly to his body, feeling the lingering pulses of Bruce’s cock, and Bruce’s lips pressing kissing reverently into Joker’s neck. Joker felt Bruce’s arms wrap around him, holding him just as tightly.

They stayed tied together, panting, and enjoying the heat shared. Just long enough for Joker’s mind to start buzzing with thoughts, half formed, and dangerous. He was always protective of his things, and Bruce was _new_.

Joker started to think of scenarios, Bruce being at a bank being robbed, or some two-bit criminal attempting to hold Bruce hostage at one of the many parties the playboy went to each month. Joker began to wonder what he would do to those who attempted to hurt his Bruce. How could he claim this lovely creature, so everyone knew in Gotham, hell the WORLD, that he was off limits?

His thoughts began to spiral quickly, as they usually do. Ideas formed, tendrils, and delicate things. The spark of a fire. Before Joker could pull at any of them a hand slid between their bodies, and Joker groaned in bliss when Bruce wrapped around his cock.

“Another?” Bruce’s voice rumbled against his skin, then placed an open mouth kiss behind his ear.

This man was going to be the death of him, and Joker found himself laughing, imaging the headlines now.

_Clown Prince of Crime Sexed to Death by Playboy_

_Billionaire Gifted Key to City After Killing Joker with his Cock_

Oh, but how could he deny his Bruce anything after seeing him bare his soul? He’d murder half the city tonight if Bruce asked him. Present the corpses in boxes with bows tied to them. He’d even play with him after, declaring to the world that Bruce Wayne was his, and off limits to those idiots who dared think they were on Joker’s level.

But, if Bruce wanted Joker to come apart under his hand once more, he would gladly give it to him.

And he _did_.

Bruce kissed him through his orgasm, devouring him like a man starved, and pulled away only because Joker couldn’t respond.

Something twisted in Joker’s stomach when Bruce’s lips tugged into not quite a smile, but not his stoic expression. He had to blink a few times, wondering if he had something bad at dinner, but the feeling drifted away like most do. Something intangible, and never within Joker’s grasp.

Just in time for Joker to touch a finger to Bruce’s kiss swollen lips, marveling at how much emotion he could display with such little movement. The man was practically wearing a mask all day, and here, his emotions were laid at Joker’s feet. He was beautiful, a light in the nuthouse, once in a lifetime being who looked, really _looked_ at Joker without hate, disgust, want to fix him or see an illness, his end. He _saw_ Joker that even Batman didn’t see and…

Oh, that wasn't right. He had a performance. He couldn't play pretend with Bruce as though they were two normal men having a lovely time. Life didn't work that way for Joker. He knew that. The scars of his previous efforts were burned into his soul.

He would have to give up Bruce. Batman rightfully demands Joker’s full attention, and someone like Bruce… they needed that as well. He couldn’t have both, the world wasn’t kind enough.

It was a better _joke_ if he had to choose. That was just good comedy.

That awful twist was back.

“Joker?” asked Bruce, his voice causing little huffs of breath to dance on Joker’s fingers.

“Yes darling?” Joker responded with a soft smile.

“Why are you crying?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment and/or kudos below!


	5. Thursday

Joker felt the world freeze for a few precious moments while his brain worked faster. This was not a position he ever intended himself to be in, and his body was attempting to prevent him from going into a panic attack. He had a few things to sort through.

He was crying, and that awful twist in his chest was to blame. What was this sensation, and more importantly, how did Joker turn it off? Did he ever feel this way before?

Well, that was a rabbit hole Joker never intended to go down. If he ever did feel this intensely about another person to the point that he was brought to tears that person certainly didn’t exist anymore so dragging up their bloated corpse into the forefront of his memories wouldn’t do any good. It may make matters worse in fact, something Joker didn’t want. Not that it seemed things could get worse.

He was crying in front of Bruce Wayne. His Bruce. The man he found himself aching for after just a day, which to be fair, is longer than it took for Joker to fall for his Bats. It only took a second of seeing that dark figure leaping at him for Joker to dedicate his life to the man. Bruce wasn’t as dramatic as Batman though. He was subtle with his mask, and that fooled everyone in Gotham.

But not Joker. Not now that he’s seen it fall.

Oh, the well of emotions Bruce had could fit the entirety of Gotham inside with room to spare! And the darkness lurking beneath that beautiful shell. The pain. The suffering. It was so raw like new wounds, yet aged, tempered by time.

Joker wanted to open Bruce's rib cage and take that heart for himself. Let no one see what he had seen in Bruce, and horde the beauty for himself alone. The people of Gotham were undeserving of Bruce. Of their golden son.

Bruce was speaking to him, but his lovely voice was being warped and distorted by the rushing of blood pounding in Joker's ears. That brow puckered, and worry displayed. Such concern for Joker, it made him want to laugh and vomit at the same time.

Bruce was a bleeding heart, too rare, and soft. He was warmth and light, things Joker never found himself wanting until this moment. It was an ache, and it hurt.

Joker didn’t like it. He couldn’t keep Bruce safe from all the rogues in Gotham. Not for lack of ability. He couldn’t sequester the man away while he left to play with Batman. There was no way Joker was going to give up his Bats for another, not after all the time, and investment he put in. Even if Batman was cheating on him, Joker knew he would forgive him, would take him back to feel those knuckles collide with his jaw.

Something Bruce could never give him. The thrill of a chase across rooftops. Someone to challenge him. Someone to stop Joker from killing everyone in his path just because he can.

Bruce would try. Joker knew that. Bruce seemed the type to try to reason with him, but there wasn’t reasoning. Not when Joker had murder on his mind, and Bruce would get in the way. He wouldn’t join in like Harley. He’s too stubborn and not bred right.

Joker’s skin began to tingle unpleasantly as it did when he grew agitated. Bruce’s hand cupping his jaw shot pins and needles across his body. Joker grabbed him hard enough to hurt.

“Getting fresh again, Mr. Wayne?” Joker hissed, sitting up, and feeling his anger boil. He wasn’t angry at Bruce, and he knew that, but it felt so much better than the ache in his chest. It was just easier.

Pretend for long enough and it became real.

Maybe Bruce was right. Maybe Joker really is terrified.

“What is wrong?” Bruce asked, voice calm, and he slowly sat up refusing to rip his hand from Joker’s grasp. “Let’s slow down and talk.”

“Oh, there’s plenty wrong sweetheart,” Joker said with an even voice, a pitiless smile curling on his lips. “I’m the Joker dear. Something you seemed to have forgotten. I’m sure I could make you a list with everything wrong with me. Hell, I’m sure there’s books on the subject to. Ever try reading any of them? Droll, though not _entirely_ inaccurate. I especially love the ones that assume I was beaten as a child which made me the monster I am today. Makes excellent material for when new doctors try poking around to see what makes me tick. Tragedy always lends itself to the best comedy in my opinion.”

Bruce didn’t react to his rambling, which only pissed Joker off more. He should be frightened! He should be cowering in front of Joker, pleading for his life. But if Bruce dared to get on his knees to beg, Joker had a feeling he may slit the man’s throat in disgust.

“Joker…” Bruce let out his name like a plea, and Joker snapped.

Joker hit Bruce across the face, knocking the man completely off the bed in a single motion. Joker refused to let go of the hand he had captive, and was pulled forward with the momentum. He fell half way off the bed, planning to shift his weight for leverage only to find Bruce recovering faster than Joker anticipated.

Bruce pulled him off the bed, and they struggled on the floor, attempting to out grapple one another. Joker was snarling, using his sharp elbows, and knees trying to aim for the soft tissues, while Bruce slowly pinned him. Their bodies slipped against one another from the sweat, and their recent activities making it difficult to get a grip.

The whole time Bruce was making calming sounds, and Joker hated it.

He hated that his body wanted to melt into Bruce, and to stop struggling. He hated that Bruce wasn’t scared of him even after Joker attacked him. He hated the quiet voice in the back of his head telling him he was replacing Batman with Bruce, that he was a failure for ever trying to do that.

Most of all, he hated that he didn’t hate Bruce. Not even a _little_.

Joker bit Bruce’s wrist hard enough to feel the tendons strain under his teeth. Fingers slipped into his mouth, pinching the jaw to make him release his hold, and Joker took the opportunity. He knew where both of Bruce’s hands were now. That gave him all the advantages he needed.

He slipped through Bruce’s arms, reaching up to the photo frame that sat on the bedside table, and broke it. Joker didn’t even have time to relish in the echoing sound of broken glass as Bruce was already moving to stop him. He then jabbed the rough edge it created into Bruce’s neck just hard enough to warn, but not break skin.

This time, Bruce froze. Joker cackled wildly.

“Oh, _now_ the playboy realizes what he’s gotten himself into,” Joker said with a tut, as though chiding him. He swung his leg over Bruce, straddling his hips, and admiring the anger Bruce finally seemed to be having.

It took long enough.

“You promised not to hurt anyone,” Bruce said through gritted teeth.

“And I didn’t,” Joker said with a malicious grin. “I believe it’s after midnight, which makes it the next day. New rules, Brucey-Wucey! I get to play how I want to now and I think playing surgeon sounds like good fun. What do you think of that, pretty boy?”

Bruce’s lips tightened, and his jaw clenched. He refused to speak, instead his eyes stared up at Joker in a silent rage. And disappointment.

Joker’s hold on the photo frame tightened, and his nostrils flared. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go! Bruce is supposed to either be frightened or give up! Hell, Joker would take all the wrath he displayed earlier over this sense of disappointment. Only Joker had the right to feel that way. After all, his date was ruined, and now he had to break the heart of a man he decided he loved just moments after he decided he loved him.

If anyone should be upset, it should be Joker!

Joker watched as blood pooled on Bruce’s neck, and pulled back the sharp edge. He didn’t mean to cause Bruce to bleed, that wasn’t how this should go. Joker isn’t sure how it should have gone at this point, seeing as how he thought about sticking the sharp end of glass into the soft tissue of Bruce’s _perfect_ fucking neck, but that’s not what he wanted _now_.

Joker swallowed. His lungs hurt from his shallow breathing.

He didn’t have anything to say. He didn’t have a plan. This was just embarrassing.

“You’re no fun anymore,” Joker whispered, tossing the broken photo frame over his shoulder. He stood up to get dressed in the worse walk of shame he's probably ever had.

He half expected Bruce to attack him when he had his back to the man, but he didn’t. He allowed Joker to gather his things in a daze, put on the discarded sleeping pants Bruce came to bed wearing, and the blouse from the party. Joker didn't want to spend time digging through the boxes trying to find clothes.

He noticed the blouse was wet. And warm. It was the red staining the fabric that made Joker realize the blood pooling at Bruce’s neck wasn’t from Bruce. Joker had cut his hand on the frame.

He hadn’t hurt Bruce. _Not really_. A punch to the face, some scuffling. Joker's teeth didn't even break the skin! Maybe he could turn around and say it was all just one big joke? That Bruce should lighten up and they could go back to being in the soft bed where Joker forgot all his problems.

He looked back at Bruce and regretted it instantly.

Bruce stood in half covered in shadow by the bed where Joker had left him. All the softness Joker had pulled out of him was gone as he held the photo from the broken frame. It was torn in his hands. The mask was back on, and it was colder than before.

Joker was not proud that he ran away.

Joker took the service elevator for the staff down to the street level which was thankfully deserted at this time of night. It took several blocks of walking, stumbling into the street, and nearly being run over by a car before Joker realized he didn’t know where he was going. Worst of all, Joker was pretty sure he was crying again.

That was just _pathetic_.

Joker wandered aimlessly around the city with his bandaged feet getting dirtier by the second on the filthy sidewalk but that wasn't a concern. Joker hadn't worried about infections for years. His wounds would heal, and his body would spring back like new.

Whatever was broiling in his chest, however, didn't feel like it was healing. It felt like it was bleeding but there wasn't a wound.

Joker's hand rubbed his chest absentmindedly as he followed the road signs without reading them. He ducked into alleys and followed the shadows cast by the gothic city. He couldn't afford to be out, even at night, without cover. The police force may be limited in funds and man power, but they were still a hassle when Joker was unarmed.

It took nearly an hour before Joker knocked on a wall near a bright green question mark. Joker was unaware of his body moving on its own that he was surprised when a familiar voice echoed out into the alley.

“Riddle me this. Why does a clown come knocking when he knows he’s unwanted?”

“Eddie…” Joker sighed, shaking his head. He wasn't in the mood for riddles or games. Or jokes. Joker rarely used the nickname for Edward Nygma, also known as The Riddler. Joker reserved it for the days when he couldn’t keep up the act.

The speaker was quiet for so long afterwards Joker was afraid Riddler left him to go back to whatever he was doing before. Though before Joker could make a mental note to burn poor Eddie's hideout down for his rudeness, the wall made a clicking sound. Then, it slid open to reveal a cozy apartment with Riddler in a full lab coat, glasses, and medical gloves.

“You look like hell,” Riddler said, eyeing the Joker over his glasses, then at the blouse. “Is that silk?”

A chuckle pushed through Joker's lips half relieved, and half amused.

“Always the perceptive one, aren't you?” Joker wanted to laugh more, but he was afraid it would break into a sob and that's the last thing he wanted to do in front of Riddler. The Riddler was just as ruthless as Joker and had twice the memory. He wouldn't allow the clown to forget a moment of weakness like that.

Which begs the question as to why Joker's subconscious brought him here. Especially after their fight before Joker was put away last time. But even Joker understood the social norms, even if he didn’t follow them. Riddler would allow him to hide for the night since their little scuffle ended up with Riddler owing something to Joker. This was as good as any reason to cash in the favor.

“Get inside,” Riddle said, moving to the side, and gesturing for Joker to enter.

Joker did, feeling the warmth wash over him instantly. He didn't realize the night was chilly until that second. The numbness was becoming a problem. He wrapped his arms around himself, finally able to tell he was shivering and probably had been for awhile.

Before he could even ask, a thick blanket was draped around his shoulders.

There were rare moments in which the rogue’s gallery got along. Usually it was in Arkham where they were forced to deal with one another. The other times occurred during alliances to fight Batman. Joker loved those. He got to watch his Bat take down the scum of Gotham up close, see all the morons run in panic from Batman’s shadow after just proclaiming how they would outsmart him.

It reminded him how evenly matched Batman and he were. How easy their routine was, and comforting. All plots, blood, fists, and bruises. Broken bones on the best occasions. Not like with Bruce, who was soft, and gentle. Someone who wanted to heal him.

Joker fought the urge to growl, gripping the warm blanket closer instead, and ducking his face from Riddler’s sight.

“Did Harley kick you out?” Riddler asked with an amused sounding voice. He stood by a small stove barely wide enough to fit two burners, heating up something in a pot. “I hear her, and Ivy got hitched in Vegas.”

“They’re at my east narrows hideout being sickeningly sweet,” Joker shivered though not from the cold this time. “I cut the brakes to their car. Hopefully Harley still has me on her life insurance.”

Riddler snorted, amused at Joker's honest displeasure. Riddle was also most likely aware of Joker's refusal to answer if that was why he was at Eddie's door shivering at one in the morning. He also had the intelligence not to prod Joker when he didn't want to be.

“You’re lucky I was in the middle of something, or I may not have answered,” Riddler said, continuing his work at the stove. “Especially since last we met, I believe you almost killed me.”

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be a corpse. If you remember from our first true scuffle, I'm also the only reason you're still breathing since I stopped Bats from knifing you,” Joker reminded the man. He still bared the scar on his palm from the action.

He plopped down on the worn couch and looked around the room. It was modest, small, barely five hundred square feet. The walls were plain red brick, the bathroom across the way, kitchen only had a few overly organized cabinets, and a single bulb to light. There were question marks though, painted at random across the walls in the same green paint.

Riddler must have obsessively done that when he finished the security system.

“He would have killed me with that blow… to think. Batman becoming a killer,” Riddler pondered, now stirring something in the pot. It smelled nice, most likely hot chocolate of some kind. Joker refused to look over at the man. “I thought that’s what you always wanted, but in the end, you stopped him.” A pause. “I always wondered why.”

“I’m an open book,” Joker muttered, his head falling onto the back of the couch.

He could see a series of metal mesh stairs, supports, and cables climbing up into the shadowed area of the apartment. That would be where Riddler kept his computers, his army of databases, and his meticulous security footage no doubt hacked from the various police cameras around the city.  

“If you were an open book, I would have read you already,” Riddler said without a hint of flirtation. It was mildly disappointing, and soothing. Joker wasn’t sure he would be up for anything else.

“Careful with that talk. I’ll think you like me,” Joker warned without any real heat. Now that he took in the apartment for all it was worth, he went back to rubbing his arms back into feeling and tucking his feet under the blanket.

“I’ll be sure to wear a matching jester outfit if that day were to come,” Riddler replied.

Joker smiled at the idea of Riddler wearing anything but his terrible green outfit. Sure, he would change it up sometimes by putting all those ridiculous question marks on a suit, but that was just a waste of a nice suit. Always asking the questions without answering.

Joker also hated the smell of desperation Riddler could get on him. He pegged Riddler as someone who never received his father’s approval. Joker could go digging at those wounds, may even find it fun to do, but his energy wasn’t there. To keep up with Riddler one needed a sharp enough mind to play chess.

Right now, Joker could barely play _Go Fish_.

They sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes while Riddler finished up with his pan and poured out two cups of hot chocolate. He handed one to Joker, who had almost fallen asleep while waiting.

“I have a free couch for the night, but you have to be gone by morning. My _slight_ debt to you for saving my life all those years ago only extends so far,” Riddler said, pulling down a metal ladder leading to the lab above the simple living room. “I suggest you use the bathroom now if you need it, otherwise I may have an acid experiment in the sink when you wake.”

“You're a real gentleman,” Joker said with a grin, then sipped on his still too hot drink. Joker didn’t need his taste buds tonight.

“By morning,” Riddler warned then retreated up to the lab to do God knows what.

Joker waited until Eddie's footsteps faded. He took up the offer to use the bathroom first, hating the clean up after sex, and the cramped space. He was already missing Bruce’s large bathroom, and the shower.

Bruce had spoiled him rotten already. It would be funny if he wasn’t on the receiving end of the joke. His body was sore, his chest still hurt, and he felt like crying again. He washed up as best as he could, given his limited resources. He cleaned his hand and noted it would probably scar. He'd have a scar on each palm now.

He returned to the couch where he wrapped the blanket like a cocoon and plopped down.

He could hear the distant echo of someone typing away on a keyboard as he sipped his hot chocolate. He didn’t bother putting the cup away when he finished, leaving it on the floor to be taken care of whenever Riddler decided to kick Joker out.

He picked at the scar on his palm, thinking back to the day when he stopped Batman from becoming a killer. The decision was easy. Joker never wants Batman to become like him. He wants to test Batman, see what makes him tick, how far he can be pushed.

Batman had to be the opposite to him. They didn’t work if they were both crazy murders. Who would stop Joker's gun then?

He forced his eyes to shut and his breath to steady until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

True to his word, Riddler kicked Joker out at first light but he let Joker take a warm green jacket with him. Riddler and he had completely different shoe sizes so Joker couldn't use the shoes even if he did steal them. The dirty bandages were his only cover and Joker was glad Bruce over wrapped them. Even if Bruce was an over protective twit.

Joker paused at the door.

“Hey Eddie,” he asked, refusing to look back.

Riddler gave a deep sigh.

“Yes?”

“What do you get the man who has everything?” Joker asked.

A pause.

“Nothing. You get him nothing,” answered Riddler and stepped close enough that Joker could smell his terrible aftershave. “Why does a clown come knocking when he knows he’s unwanted?”

 “Because he has a riddle,” Joker turned slightly, enough for Riddle to see his smile. “Be seeing you, Ed.”

“With luck, no you won’t.”

Joker had his answer, though not one he wanted. He could push to stay but that would require him explaining himself and Joker wasn’t ready for that. He probably wouldn’t ever be.

So, he left.

Joker hugged the jacket around his body and made his way through the town towards his hideout. He regretted not thinking to grab his keys, though at this point his loaned car was probably towed. He'd let Oswald deal with that hassle.

Joker managed to pick pocket the people too busy trying to make their way to coffee shops or their job. The early morning was a great cover as most people were half asleep. They made for easy targets and Joker could blend in just by ducking his chin. Looking like a homeless person helped as well since no one wanted to make eye contact on the lowest rank on Gotham's social ladder.

The bus was surprisingly on time and Joker made his way up the stairs into his place before Harley woke. He flopped down with the two hyenas, allowing them to nip at the unfamiliar jacket, they both seemed to hate Riddler's smell, which made Joker chuckle. He wrapped an arm around Lou and pulled the animal into a cuddle, burying his face into the rough fur.

That was how Harley found him.

“I take it the date didn't go so well?” Harley asked with caution.

Joker made a rumble in his chest and snuggled closer to Lou.

“You want some breakfast, pud?” Harley bent down to touch Joker's exposed ankle, petting him in a soothing pattern. Joker jerked his leg away, curling up.

“What's wrong with him?” Ivy's voice drifted in though with none of the concern Harley had. “I mean, other than the usual.”

“His date didn't go well,” Harley answered as she stood. “I think we'll have to pay the billionaire a little visit for hurting puddin'.”

“Don't!” Joker practically shouted, bolting upright and disturbing the two hyenas.

Harley and Ivy started at the clown, wide eyed. Ivy glanced at Harley as though wanting an explanation for Joker's behavior, but Harley shrugged. Then, Harley bent down to be at eye level of the panicking Joker. A cool hand reached forward and touched his forehead. Joker tore himself away from it, growling.

“I'm not sick!” Joker clenched his fists and glared at Harley who fell back on her butt at his sudden anger. “My date went fine. Perfect. It was a huge success. Got pretty boy to buy me things and throw a party. So, stop asking me about it!”

“Harley was just concerned about you, you fool,” Ivy hissed, helping up her wife. “No wonder you're always alone clown.”

“Red!” Harley snapped, but the damage was done.

Joker felt the murderous rage wash over him. This was familiar, a comfort. It made him smile wide enough to split his lip open, and the euphoria of knowing he was about to end someone's life burst into his gut. He was practically giddy with it.

“Oh no, please continue mother nature, I'm interested in hearing your thoughts on the subject,” Joker said with a grin. “How does it feel to know Harley will forever care about me, no matter how much you try to pull her away? Or that I was her first murderous psychopath? Never can forget your first after all.”

Two vines rose from the floor like a whip. If Joker didn't see Ivy tensing, he may have been hit. Years of fighting Batman have honed Joker's reactions and he dodged the thrown vines with ease. His hand shot forward, grabbing Ivy by the neck within the same second, catching her off guard as she choked.

“Why aren't you talking anymore, Audrey Two? Clown got your tongue?” Joker hissed, his fingers already digging into Ivy's throat as her hands clawed at his wrist.

“Pud, stop,” Harley barked, as she stood beside the two of them, her glare going between them. “You two need to calm down!”

Joker felt vines wrapping around his legs, thorns piercing as they climbed, but that only made him hold Ivy tighter. The swell of glee, watching the panic rise in the green eyes in front of him was captivating. He loved to see the last moment right before the life drained from the person. It was close to feeling real joy and Joker would take it. He would take it all.

When Harley put a hand on his shoulder to pull him away, Joker did something he hadn't done in a long time. He hit Harley.

Harley and he scuffle from time to time. Being villains allow them a certain leeway when being physical and dangerous around each other. In the beginning it was all death threats and acid. Then it became the occasional hit, until their arguments became a routine with no real fire in them. An act. A mock play. They both enjoyed it but there was a line.

Never backhand Harley. Punch her like an equal, push her like an enemy, and use a crow bar when you swing. None of those mattered to her. They were respectful. A backhand was an insult.

A backhand is what her father did to her. Like Joker just did.

Joker didn't realize he loosen his grip on Ivy to watch Harley, until she had him pinned to a wall with vines. They wrapped around him, piercing his skin in tiny cuts, and constricting his chest hard enough he could scarcely catch a breath. None of that mattered though. Not when Harley was tearing up, hand to her cheek, and looking broken.

“Harley, pudding pop, I didn-" Joker began, his voice cutting off as a vibe wrapped around his throat choking him.

“What, pud,” Harley asked, her nose sniffling but her eyes burning in wrath. “Ya didn't mean it, is that what you were gonna say?”

He was.

“Well jokes on you, that don't mean anything,” Harley balled her fist, shaking, tears threatening to spill past her pretty blue eyes, and her cheek still red. She stalked up to Joker's pinned form and hissed. “Let him go, Red.”

“You think I'm just going to let-" Ivy started, a hand rubbing her sore throat, when Harley cut her off with a glare.

“I ain't askin',” Harley’s voice low, and deadly.

The two women stared at each other, both ignoring the gasping sounds from Joker who was starting to see spots. Ivy’s eyes searched Harley, and with a wave of her hand, Joker was released. Joker fell to his knees, gasping, and coughing.

“You know what your problem is, Puddin’,” Harley began, her voice losing some of the street accent. It was never a good talk when that happened. “You can't deal with people knowing you and trying to get close.”

“I'm an open-"

“Book? Yeah, tell someone who'll buy that crap,” Harley gave a fake laugh, full of vile, and hurt. “No one _likes_ you. Not because you kill people or blow things up, we all have our issues. People don't like you because you're an asshole.”

“I don't care if people like me,” Joker groused, his voice gruff from being choked.

“If I didn't know you, I'd think that was true,” Harley kneeled close, her face stern and every bit the doctor she once was. “You desperately want people to like you. It's why you tell your jokes, but you get scared when they laugh. Scared they will decide they don't like you, so you get angry and push them away. You push everyone away and one day it'll just be you… alone. With no friends. No family. No Batman.”

“Batman will always be there to catch me,” Joker hissed, shaking.

Harley gave him a sad smile.

“Ya, sure he will.” With that, Harley got up. “Come on, Red. This place is starting to smell funny.”

“Harley,” Joker hissed, looking up at his partner of years. Her cheek red as she turned towards him as she paused for a moment. Joker swallowed the insult.

This was Harley. And their show was closing. He didn’t want her to go but he couldn’t make himself say the words. Instead, he offered an olive branch.

“I cut the brakes on the convertible.”

“I know,” she said with a sad smile. She linked arms with Ivy, called their hyenas to heel, and left Joker on the ground. Alone in the hideout once more. Where the silence closed in on him. Suffocating.

Joker screamed.

There were times, not many, that Joker felt he pushed a little too much on someone. It was a rare feeling since he typically didn't care what happened to other people. They were fodder for his jokes and in the end their lives didn't matter. He thought everyone fell into the category of the mass.

Batman was the rare exception to the rule. Joker didn't want to push him away, but it was like a Chinese finger trap. The more Joker pulled, the tighter the bond. There wasn't anything Batman couldn't handle. He was _Batman_ after all. Forged by the city of Gotham and tempered by Joker. Joker didn't need to try not to push Batman too far. It was a monumental task to undertake and not something Joker could do by mistake.

Joker would never consciously do that.

He thinks.

 _Maybe_.

Harley doesn't know what she is talking about when it comes to him and Batman. She never truly understood their dynamic. Jealousy colored her vision and prevented her from seeing the big picture. Even though she had no reason to be jealous now… what with the wife and all… _damn_.

Joker grabbed his head, pressing his palms against his skull, and applying pressure. Trying to squeeze his own thoughts, to distract from the rising panic in his chest.

He backhanded _Harley_.

Joker knew better than crossing that line. He thought even if he did tip toe over it, it wouldn't _matter_ since he didn't care about anyone. He shouldn't _care_ about Harley. Her upset face of betrayal. Her leaving. Her words the cut him right to the core because he allowed her to see him. More than he ever intended.

Because he wanted her to like him.

Fuck.

Joker ripped off the silk blouse now shredded from Ivy's vines and soaked in blood from the cuts already healing on his body. He jumped in a hot shower, scrubbing his skin raw, and standing under the spray until it ran cold. The whole time his thoughts went wild, recreating scenarios of success, of anger, of hurt, and different winding endings. In some he killed Bruce, but they never lasted. He always _hated_ them.

In some he convinced Harley he didn't mean to hit her, he was just so angry! And she should know better than to try to stop him from murdering people. It just wasn't done. Maybe it was just _her_ fault and _he_ would forgive her of course. She was _Harley_ after all.

But, in most of them, Joker simply didn't make the mistake. He sassed Ivy into silence and moved on. On to Bruce Wayne's tower for another date, and at night he played with Batman. That would have been perfect. The three parts of his life blended together in perfect harmony. Bruce would visit him in Arkham, Harley would break him out, and Batman who put him back.

It was so perfect it had to be fantasy.

Joker cleaned his wounds, bandaged the ones still threatening to reopen, got dressed in a modest outfit for once, and left. He hated the silence. He would take Arkham over this place.

The trip around Gotham was odd. When Joker went out on the town it was usually to rob a place or set up a trap for his Dark Knight. There was always a plan, always a destination in mind. With small exceptions of this week, Joker had directions. Some place to be.

He didn't have that today.

He sat down at a bar on the shady part of town where people avoided eye contact. Without his usual makeup, and natural showmanship. Joker blended in with the crazier crowd that lurked in the darker parts. No one would imagine the Joker, the clown prince of crime, would be moping at a backwater bar, poorly attempting to drown his sorrows in terrible whiskey.

The Stacked Deck was a small bar with two pool tables taking up the vast amount of space, a long narrow bar, and a few booths probably nice when first installed twenty years ago. The walls were decorated with pictures of ladies at poker tables, bar bottles of whatever brand they sold, and the occasional car. There were more bar stools than patrons, but that served Joker just fine. He liked sitting by himself.

He idly watched the news on the flat screen, grimacing every time he took a drink. He hated alcohol. He drank wine on the twice a year occasion when he did drink, and never more than a glass. It was terrible, killed his mood, and rarely did more than leave him depressed. He was hoping this time would be different. Maybe he could find the amount needed to numb himself like the two men playing pool?

They were regulars, each with a favorite stick. Joker recognized one as a low-level member of Oswald's gang. So low on the totem pole that he didn't realize Joker was in the same bar with him. Which was a rare thing for Joker, and he found it mildly amusing. And convenient since he wasn't looking to be recognized.

Overall, Joker was looking to be alone with a drink in hand, and his sorrows drowned. Either by the drinks at the bar, or by causing mayhem across town if the drinks failed. One way or another, he was going to shut his mind up.

Which is why Joker flinched in anger when the doors opened revealing a group of people that Joker loathed.

Kite Man, Music Mister, Baby Doll, Condiment King, and Roxy Rocket came into the bar together, laughing. They were low tiered rogues in Gotham barely on any radar. Separate they were easy to deal with, and easily fooled. Together, they were a problem. Joker knew he would be spotted if he slunk off, so he sat still at the bar, hunching over, and doing his best impression of a drunk.

The group made their way to the back where they took up the corner booth, their conversation over powering the rest of the quiet bar and Condiment King coming up to the bar for the first round of drinks.

Joker slowly turned his body away from the man in a poor attempt to hide himself. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. Joker was great at staying under cover when he wanted, and even Batman had a hard time seeing through the disguises. The issue was, Joker didn't try. He didn't care enough to cover himself and for that, he was likely about to be discovered.

Buddy Standler, the Condiment King, was once a lowly comedian who was barely scraping by with his stand-up routines, but he had a small fan base. Joker decided it would be fun to explore the old comedy scene again, and on a whim picked Standler as his target. Brainwashing him was almost too easy, and the man finding a calling in terrible condiment puns did make Joker laugh.

If there was one stupid, third rate villain in all of Gotham that would know Joker by sight, it was sadly this idiot.

It didn't take long for Standler to notice the lone figure at the bar, or him to practically run back to his group, forgetting their round of drinks. Joker debated on leaving, looking down at his half full glass of whiskey. He actually paid for it, with cash. He was going to finish it and not be rushed, consequences be damned.

“H-hey,” said a voice just behind Joker. He slowly turned to see Sandler shaking, but looking rather determined.

Oh, this could be fun.

“We do a group meeting every week,” Standler began, stuttering, and sweating the whole time. The group looking on his fascination and horror. “You know, like therapy sessions but with less doctors trying to patronize us and more booze. We wanted to know if you wanted to, and it's totally fine if you don't, if you wanted to _maybe_ join us?”

Joker leaned against the bar, taking a sip from his drink, and eyeing the man. It was fun to watch him squirm and Joker relished the small amount of control he had. His glance to the group made them all flinch back, and Joker grinned.

“Keep my glass full, and I'll join your little group,” Joker said, shaking his nearly empty glass.

Standler blinked, his eyes going between the glass and Joker's grinning face. Then, he let out a relieved laugh, put his card on the bar, and picked up Joker for a running tab. Joker threw his arm over Standler's shoulder as they joined with the group.

“So, what do you losers do for fun?” Joker asked, sliding into the booth next to Roxy. “Rob a bank? Play darts? Set Jim Gordon's house on fire?”

“Drink, sing, and drink so more,” Music Mister announced, singing the answer, then downed a drink.

“Please tell me he doesn't sing all night,” Joker stage whispered to Roxy.

“You get used to it,” she answered with a shrug. “Besides, watching these fools group sing at Karaoke is quite a treat. We've only been banned from three bars. So far.”

Joker grinned. He liked this group well enough. He had a group to perform for, an audience, and he didn't have to be alone. Perhaps his day was finally looking up?

The whole keeping his glass full was taken seriously. Joker lost count of his drinks, of the terrible jokes he told, and how many times Music Mister broke out into song. Baby Doll, or Mary as she wanted to be called, which Joker did point out was lame, but she insisted, turned out to be the best drinking buddy. She did a balancing trick with toothpicks and a fork, then showed Joker how to do it. Though, he showed them how to cheat at cards, which was an equally amazing trick.

It was always helpful when money was low, and you needed cash.

They progressively grew louder as the drinks kept coming, and by the time they moved on to another bar, Joker had loudly announced how proud he was of Standler.

“Best brainwash decision I ever made,” Joker pinched Standler's cheek. “He's a great guy, did you know? I’m always a sucker for a pun.”

Standler had hugged him, and Joker was only slightly aware of the flash going off. He really wished they asked for a photo. He had a good side after all, and it always needed to be captured. Joker may have informed them of this at some point between bars, and probably after Kite Man threw up. Probably.

Joker had never been properly drunk before. He's heard what it's like. The loss of balance, the sudden, and vicious need to pee. The moments when you wanted to speak but your tongue felt numb, the world tilted, and sometimes you forgot things. The numbness of the senses. Joker wasn't sure if he was drunk, but he was sure that he was killing it at Karaoke.

“I'm all out if love, I'm so lost without you!” Joker sang loudly, and in tune, with Music Mister as his backup. He was gesturing, spilling his drink. He mutters the next line as he licked up the liquid coating his wrist. Waste not, want not after all.

The others were cheering and swaying with Joker's song. It was really on their group at the bar, but that didn't matter. Joker didn't need a large crowd to have fun. He just needed a captive one, and Mary was crying as she sang along, which made Joker cry. But he was sure that just made the performance better for it.

After all, weren't the best performers the ones who really experienced the emotions of their work? Joker was an artist! A master of his craft! He could certainly do the same.

“That was so beautiful!” Kite man, also known as Chuck, said as he hugged Joker. “You sing with your heart. That's _so beautiful_ , you know?”

“That's so nice,” Joker said, then gave a kiss to Chuck's cheek. “I love my fans.”

“Can I have a picture with you?” Chuck asked. “I just… I just want this moment, you know? Meeting you, having this good time.”

“Of course!” Joker stumbled into Chuck in his hurry to pose. They made a few more declarations of how wonderful the night was before Roxy had to help them take a photo.

“Smile boys,” she said with a smile. She always looked so amused.

Their drinking continued, and Music Mister took over the microphone with Mary to do a few duets. Roxy was in the front recording then with her phone. Standler and Chuck sat next to Joker, in a deep discussion on why Gotham was both a blessing and a curse 

“I mean, what other town would have someone like you?” Standler said, his hand waving at Joker. “Metropolis barely has anyone who anyone remembers. I mean, you got Lex _then who_? No one. No one cares about the _whatever_ of Metropolis.”

“They have no style,” Joker nodded. “Gotham criminals at least have a gimmick!”

“And their big villain is their richest too!” Chuck exclaimed. “It's like… he doesn't NEED the money. He's hogging the spotlight from the hard-working villains who have nothing but passion.”

“Our billionaire at least keeps his nose out of our business,” Standler said, not noticing how quiet Joker became. “He just stays in his tower doing rich people things.”

“He's also stupidly handsome, smug, and a great kisser,” Joker said with a shrug, wanting to get another drink though he's pretty sure his stomach might burst with any more on it.

“I bet,” Standler agreed. “Gotta be that or money since he keeps nailing all those models.”

“My glass is empty,” Joker announced, standing up to get more, and get away from the conversation that switched wildly to Bruce, but stumbled. He knocked into the table and fell back into his chair with a pout.

“Roxy will get you more,” Chuck said, turning to Roxy, “Right Rox?”

“Yeah, I got it,” she responded, tucking her phone away and going to the bar.

“See? All taken care of,” Chuck said, patting Joker's hand.

Joker sunk down in his seat, hating the fact that his skin was a strange sort of numbness where he knew things were touching him, but they didn't feel right. More alcohol probably wasn't the best thing for him, but he didn't want to leave their company. Even when they brought up recent wounds.

“What's got you sad?” Chuck asked. Joker looked up, surprised and Chuck smiled. “I got a son. I got dad senses now I know when people are sad.”

“That's not a thing,” Standler said with a laugh.

“Shut up Buddy,” Chuck said, pushing at Buddy but laughing. “Joker's not smiling. We need to find out why.”

Joker squirmed in his seat. He wanted to laugh it off, but they've had such a good time. All the laughing, singing, and drinking. He's pretty sure he's drunk, and he's never been drunk before but that made him want to talk.

“Everyone is mad at me,” Joker exclaimed, burying his face in his hands. “I just make people _mad_ and then they don't want to be around me anymore.”

“You can't help people being mad sometimes,” Chuck said, rubbing Joker's shoulder. “I make people mad but it's ok. And you're pretty great.”

“Yeah,” Standler agreed. “I mean, I was really mad when I found out you brainwashed me but that's in the past now. I'm not mad anymore. I mean, if you didn't do that I wouldn't be here. With you guys. Just, having the best night, you know? I’d probably be couch surfing like I was before but now… I have these guys.”

Joker looked up at Standler and his goofy smiling face. He was right. If Joker hadn't done what he did, the man would still be a washed-up comedian, miserable. He'd most likely end up dead by now, but Joker had saved him from that. By trying to get him killed. And that was _funny_!

“You know what,” Joker said, lifting his glass. “I'm gonna have a good night. I'm not going to look back but forward.”

“Cheers!”

Joker downed the drink and blacked out

The next hour was a blur. There was more drinking, a lot more singing, and somewhere along the way they lost Roxy and Mary. When Joker brought this up, Music Mister told him Roxy usually takes Mary home when she gets too drunk. Which is nice, but Joker didn't think she was that drunk. She seemed fine!

She only threw up once. Chuck was on his third time.

Where was Chuck?

Joker didn't remember how he ended up in the sewer either. There was something in his hand, and Joker raised it to his lips to drink it, but it wasn't a drink. He pulled it away to see a new bottle of lube. With a receipt. Huh.

“What do you want clown?” growled a voice in the dark.

“Oh, Croc…  croc, croccy, Crockett, hehe,” Joker giggled, blinking hard to try and see straight. When that didn't work, he closed one eye. Slightly better. “I know why I'm here.”

He lifted the lube then promptly dropped it.

“Oops…” Joker said, then just laughed.

Before he could try to retrieve the lost bottle, Waylon pinned him to the wall. Joker felt the world spin for a few seconds and lost track of where he was. The pressure at his throat was a little nice, but he needed to breathe. He tapped Waylon's arm to get him to ease, but the grip remained. Waylon was also talking, Joker was pretty sure.

“Because of you, Batman came down here,” Waylon growled, Joker feeling the heat of his breath on his face. “You brought trouble, then you come down here drunk. Loud. Waking me up.”

“Batsy was here?” Joker asked, his voice wheezing.

“Yes,” Waylon hissed. “I told you. No trouble. Now, I'll eat your flesh.”

“Kinky!” Joker giggled, shifting his arm up to help lift his weight. Waylon must be really into the role play this time, as the hold was rather tight. Joker only needed a little room, then he would be ready for fun.

Joker yelped when Waylon's jaws clamped around his arm. The pain shooting across his body and waking him up to attention. Joker watched as his blood soaked through his sleeve at an alarming rate, and Waylon pulled back nearly wrenching Joker's arm from its socket.

Shit.

Not kinky.

Joker planted his feet on Waylon's thighs and pushed his weight up, shifting for a better position. Joker was pissed. He pulled the switchblade from his pocket, flicked it open with a practiced move, and jammed it into Waylon's neck.

Waylon roared in pain, Joker's arm free from his teeth, and he grabbed the back of Waylon's neck with his injured arm to steady himself.

“I like biting in bed, but I'm not into the food kink sweetie,” Joker said with a manic grin. It wasn't the excitement Joker wanted in his evening, but it was good enough. The thrill of violence, the smell of blood in the air, and the burst of adrenaline from the pain. Joker was always in his element during these moments, always in control. He had the power to kill Waylon with a twist of his knife. He could watch the large man twitch, and howl as his life drained from his body.

_You’re scared of what will happen if you stop._

Bruce Wayne's voice drifted into his mind unwanted. Joker wanted to shout at him, tell him he could stop at any time, he just liked to kill people. It was funny! He was the Joker, of course he told jokes. Bruce just didn't get it.

Joker looked down at Waylon, who was standing still, awaiting what Joker would do. It would be easy to pull his knife and let the man bleed out. Let the man die alone in the sewer.

But then he'd prove he was scared.

Joker snarled, pushing himself from Waylon and unsteadily to the ground. Waylon scrambled away from him and ran off. Joker listened until the foot steps faded, ran a bloody hand through his hair. He cursed Bruce's name as the blood dripped from his ruined arm and into the muddy water below.


	6. Friday

Waking to a hangover wasn't a good time for anyone especially to those not used to the feeling. Joker, not being a drinker and normally never touching the stuff, had avoided such a terrible fate for his life. Well, for the parts he remembered anyways. This, however, was not one of those days.

“What hit me?” he mumbled into the pillow, at least he hoped was a pillow, and winced as the sound of his own voice caused his head to throb.

He also had the strong urge to vomit as the material caught his breath and allowed him to smell it. He was relatively sure it counted as a weapon since the horrible stench could probably melt plastic. He would get away from the smell but that would require the pillow to move and Joker wasn't about to let the light touch his eyes anytime soon.

“Well, you're alive,” said a female voice, making Joker curl into himself as his head expressed its hate of noise. “Makes the paperwork easier.”

Two strong hands grabbed his arm and pulled it. The joint at his shoulder ached as though it had been overstretched. Joker moaned in pain.

“Quit whining,” the woman said, dismissively.

Ah, now Joker knew who that was. Dr. Leslie Thompkins, one of the few civilians capable of talking to him like that and living. Though, the caring Doctor did sport more than a few scars from Joker's darker moods.

He couldn't _always_ play nice.

“Like always you've somehow stopped bleeding without major intervention despite the fact that whatever tried to take a chunk out of you pierced your artery,” Dr. Thompkins explained, releasing his arm, and circling to Joker's head. “I take it I have you to thank for the broken window.”

“I was wondering how I got in,” Joker muttered. Then the pillow was yanked from him and blinding light seared into his eyes. He rolled over trying to escape, and promptly threw up.

And he just realized he was on the floor. Lovely. That certainly explains the back pain and chill.

“Well, since you went through all the trouble to break into my clinic, the least you can do is let me get a proper examination,” She said as she wiped down the raised table.

With medical precision she dried it, put the cover paper on it that most doctors used in their offices, and popped on latex gloves. She also cleaned up his mess on the floor, hosing it down and allowing it all the go down a drain built into the floor. She prepped the room, allowing Joker to center himself.

Joker, meanwhile, was having trouble getting to his feet. And vomited again but made it into the trash can. He squeezed his eyes shut, and hugged the trash can, deciding he would stay here and let her come to him. It would be easier and if she wanted to check his wounds, she could make the effort.

He could feel the heat of her gaze on his back.

The lights dimmed in the room to a tolerable level, and the blinds were shut before Joker was convinced to move onto the table. She shoved pain medication into his hands, which he tossed into the trash, glaring.

“They don’t work,” he answered, pressing his fingers into his temples, trying to will away the migraine. “Believe me, I’ve tried them all.”

“Just so we are clear,” Dr. Thompkins began as she fussed over his bite wound from Waylon. “When I reset your shoulders, and stitched your ear, the drugs did nothing to dull that pain?”

Joker grinned at her.

“Ah, Doc, feeling guilty?” he asked, fluttering his lashes at her.

“Not in the least,” she answered, pulling off Joker’s drunken attempt at a bandage. “I will keep that in mind for the future though.”

He winced as the gauze refused to lift from a few sections, tugging on his wound. She wet it down with saline, and then pulled them free. His arm was a mess, but she was right. There wasn’t any fresh blood dripping. A few spots bubbled up due to removing the gauze but overall, it was already starting to scab.

Now that he was sober, he could appreciate the work. Waylon’s teeth had wrapped around the meat of his arm, snagging into the bone, which most likely the only reason why he still had muscle to speak of. The jagged row of teeth tore into him, leaving behind a rather perfect oval, and would scar.

Joker whistled at it.

“Got to hand him credit,” Joker said. “When he says eat the flesh off your bones, he means it!”

“Him?” Dr. Thompkins asked, her head snapping up. “A man did this to you?”

Joker grinned.

“Ever hear the legend of the crocodile that lives in the sewers? He’s got a mean bite, and a taste for human flesh,” Joker lowered his voice, as though he were telling a ghost story. “They say he preys on those who wander into his domain at night. Though, no one ever escapes to tell the tale. It’s why all the Gotham Waste Management started building those pipes above ground. They fear the Killer Croc!”

Joker cackled madly, while Dr. Thompkins looked unimpressed, then he threw up as his head revolted against the sudden activity. Dr. Thompkins moved to clean up the new mess without comment.

She was in her later years, and probably heard it all from the dredges of society. But, the best part of the story was, it was true. Every word, and she would most likely never believe Joker because he was the one who told her.

That was a wonderful joke, if he does say so himself.

Joker swung his legs, whistling a merry tune while Dr. Thompkins busied herself with patching him up. She cleaned his wounds and dressed them. She discovered he had two fractured ribs, chipped bones in his arm, his left knee was dislocated which she corrected but he needed to be nice to it, her words, and his trachea was badly bruised. He was also severely dehydrated to the point that she hooked him to an IV.

“I can drink water just fine,” Joker groused, hating the feeling of needles in his skin, but allowed her to do it.

“Your body won’t absorb it fast enough,” she argued, checking the line for air bubbles before administering the liquids. “If I learned anything about you in all this time, it’s that you never sit still for long. You’ll need these fluids if you want to keep from fainting.”

“Like a blushing bride,” Joker giggled, laying back on the table, and deciding to wait until the bag was half-way empty. Then he would pull it out and leave.

“Any other injuries I should know about?” she asked.

“Only of the heart break variety,” he replied with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m not that kind of Doctor,” she replied, stripping her gloves, and packing away the kits. “I have to open the clinic. It’s already late in the morning. Think you can behave yourself for ten minutes?”

“I make no promises.”

She leveled him with a glare, and he smiled. She held his gaze for a few seconds, before leaving him along in the room. And full of so many pointy things he could feel his fingers itching to take.

He did lose his best knife last night after all. Probably still stuck in Waylon’s neck, which he deserved.

Joker wandered around the small room, checking any unlocked cabinets, and finding the lack of any scalpels disappointing. He was pretty sure doctors had those things on hand in their rooms. They certainly did at Arkham, and Joker loved palming those to use later. He was smart about it and didn’t use it the same day he stole the item. Allowing time to pass and letting them forget he was ever in the hospital ward.

There was even one time where Joker hid a scalpel in his cell between stays. It took him three times of escaping and returning before he was put in the same cell, but when he found his old friend waiting for him, it was like music. He stabbed the guard Frank Boyle in the thigh and the man nearly bleed out.

Always had a healthy fear of Joker since then. His voice would quiver around Joker, though he tried to hide it, Joker could always tell. He learned not to get on Joker’s bad side and became a valuable informant. Frank feared Joker.

Unlike a certain billionaire.

Joker felt the headache kick him between the eyes. He didn’t want to think about Bruce. His stupid face, or the wonderful way he smelled. They were useless thoughts to have since Joker made the decision to give up Bruce for Batman. To go back on that now, well, that was just insane!

Though, did Bruce really know that Joker wasn’t going to be crawling back to him? That was the whole reason for the neck stabbing, but Joker didn’t go through with it. He had seen blood on Bruce’s neck, and reacted.

He probably didn’t get his point across.

The billionaire would go off into the world, keeping his mask on, and one day Joker would be at a party with him. Or passing on the street. There could also be a bank robbery, but that was doubtful. Bruce probably never stepped foot into a bank a day in his life. He had people for that sort of nonsense. Bruce Wayne didn’t deal with every day problems like the rest of this city.

He just ran a company. A boring company, with boring people, who live boring lives. That should mean Bruce is boring. He just had to be!

But he wasn’t. That was where the crux of the problem. Bruce Wayne was interesting. There was a darkness in him, that called to Joker like a siren, and Joker was the helpless sailor drawn in by the song. Until he crashed into the rocks and drowned a terrible death that is. That could still be _fun_ though.

 _NO_! He had Bats to think about.

Batman who was dark, broody, and who challenged Joker. Joker molded Batman to be his perfect foil. The man met each obstacle that Joker put in his way and beat even Joker’s expectations. He thought in a way that Joker had difficulty seeing when they first began their little affair.

For the first time in his known life, Joker had to adapt. He had to learn more in order to stay a few precious steps ahead of his opponent. Batman had only achieved this within the last year. He was so close to being Joker’s equal, that Joker could almost taste it!

Once Batman was ready, Joker could really show him a good time. He’d make all the training, games, and practices worth the wait. On that day, he would show Batman how to truly dance.

But in order to do that, he had to cut Bruce out. Show him that their time together is over, and Joker would gut him if he crossed the line just like every other sniveling member of the city. That he was just another face in the endless sea of Joker's victims. Just a punch line.

The door swung open and nearly caused Joker to flinch.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Dr. Thompkins remarked. She quickly entered and shut the door. There were stains on her coat that weren’t there before. She was also eyeing him as though wanting to comment further but deciding against it.

Joker looked at the IV bag and realized it was almost empty. His headache was also barely noticeable. The doctor was already moving to unhook him.

“I need this room for a surgery,” she explained, pulling the needle out, and patching the area quickly. “Any chance you’ll leave out the window you broke to avoid me having to explain why I had a wanted criminal in my clinic without alerting police?”

“Only if you give me a scalpel,” Joker answered with a broad smile and was surprisingly given a scalpel. He should have questioned it, but he was too shocked at her lack of fight on the matter.

Joker left without seeing who they brought into the clinic which needed the room. He doubted he would even know the person. His curiosity was usually nagging him at times like this, and he would have to at least peek. One never knew when valuable information would be dropped, and it paid to be curious. Especially in the criminal business.

This time, however, Joker had a mission. He had to go see a certain pretty boy about their lousy date, and maybe make him not so pretty. That might help with the break up after all. Maybe Bruce wouldn't be so enticing without his handsome face.

Though knowing Joker's luck adding scars to Bruce's face would only make him more enticing.

Joker decided to stop by his hideout for a change of clothes. He still smelled like a sewer and a liquor store had relations in a dumpster. He carefully washed around his wrappings and scrubbed his hair clean from the blood. His breath was fixed with more mouthwash than strictly necessary.

He busied himself with picking out each element of his outfit. The purple pinstripe suit, chain with knife, suede coattails, the ruffled orange button down, and his good vest. If he was going to break up with Bruce Wayne, he was going to look his best after all.

Joker avoided the other room that Harley and Ivy shared. He could go in if he wanted and trash it. Break a few things, like he had with his own room, but he left it. He argued he could come back and destroy it later. If he wanted.

He eyed his reflection, adjusting his suit here and there. He debated between wearing the gold or the silver cufflinks. He ultimately went with gold to match the chain and pocket watch. He fussed some more after his clothes until he became frustrated with himself.

“I'm only doing this because I want to,” Joker grumbled at his reflection, adjusting his collar to hide the bruising. It sounded convincing. Maybe he would believe it by the time he reached Wayne Tower.

He reached for the last piece of his suit, his armor. The purple leather gloves that matched brilliantly with his coat. He watched the first one slide on covering the knife scar then paused on his right. The wound was bandaged but the gauze spotted red from reopening. It was the issue with palm wounds. They never healed right.

Joker gritted his teeth and hid away his wound, covering the last bit of himself. His reflection showed what adorned the cover of newspapers, late night shows, and far more case files than even he knew about. He looked like the Joker that haunted Gotham at night and frightened its citizens.

He took a deep breath and left the hideout to show Gotham's favorite son who he really was.

With his armor on Joker had little worry about getting through Gotham in record time. He had left the Honda behind a few days ago but it wasn't any trouble to hot wire a car. Joker may be at his best when dressed to perform however he was also recognizable to any citizen who happened to glance at him longer than a second. His safest way to Wayne Tower was by car with tinted windows. An easy find on the shadier side of town.

Joker made his way downtown and left the stolen car illegally parked on a side walk. He wasn't going to need it if all went well.

He remained hidden behind a pillar, watching the employees shuffle in and out of the building. The afternoon crowd always kept their heads down, too busy with whatever tedious thing they seemed important. Joker wished he brought something with a little more presentation to startle the masses.

The scalpel was slotted into a mechanism on his wrist, allowing Joker to extract it with a flick of his wrist. He usually reserved the honors for his switchblade but that was lost. He only hoped he calculated the spring properly for the lighter weight, otherwise things could be a bit tricky.

A tinted limo rolled up to the front of Wayne Tower. It was stretch, large, expensive. All the things Bruce would have, and Joker slipped into the crowd. He didn't wait to see Bruce or the older butler that drove him around. He hopped into the other side with his chest aching at the thought of being close to Bruce again.

“Well, hello,” Joker began as he peered into the limo he jumped into.

This wasn't Bruce Wayne's limo. Joker knew that before he even finished his hello. The first thing that hit Joker was the smell. Bruce had a calming odor. Clean laundry, fresh shower, gentle note of something masculine under it. Natural.

The limo smelled of expensive cologne. Rich bourbon. Faint cigar left from previous drives. Leather. Daddy issues.

Lex. The limo smelled like Lex Luthor.

“Joker,” Lex hissed, his body physically recoiled though Lex kept his face surprisingly neutral. Ever the true businessman.

“Well, this is a surprise. Big boy Lex making his way into the lowly Gotham,” Joker said, knowing backing out would give him away. Lex would smell indecision on him like a shark with blood.

“How did you even find out I was coming here?” Lex demanded.

“Who said I knew you were?” Joker retorted with a grin.

Joker watched as Lex worked his jaw as Joker sprawled out in the seat next to him. It was always a power play when the two of them came into contact. Joker hated Lex with a passion but could respect the tenacity. Also, the ruthlessness.

Lex eyed Joker shrewdly and Joker could practically see the wheels turning in the man's head. That seldom worked in Joker's favor.

“If you weren't looking for me, who were you waiting for?” Lex asked.

Joker grinned.

“Mr. Moneybags himself, Bruce Wayne,” Joker answered, a glance around the limo, then, “I should have known this wasn't his though. His is nicer.”

“You've been in his?” Lex questioned not taking the bait.

“Only a few times,” Joker shrugged, then focused on Lex. “But the question here, what brings Lex to Gotham. I'm going to take a stab and say it's to do with that energy project you're pushing.”

Lex only allowed himself a moment to be surprised before taking his features back to their arrogant default.

Joker never missed a trick, and while Bruce's party was mostly useless fun, he did pay attention to the chatter. People say the darnest things when trying to impress. Not to mention the alcohol level in the room was nearly toxic.

“My, you do have ears everywhere don't you?” Lex said. “I wonder what else you've managed to overhear.”

“If these ears could talk,” Joker said in a whimsical voice. He leveled Lex with a grin. “You look disappointed Lex. Did pretty boy see past your bald exterior?”

“Wayne has a narrow-minded focus,” Lex answered, his voice tense but not angry. Yet. “He would rather put money into this dying city. Sentimental nonsense.”

Joker tilted his head in thought. Bruce was a bleeding heart and there was no bigger project than Gotham. It was also his home, where his parents lived, and as Joker learned, Bruce cared very deeply for his parents.

Lex wasn't bound to any place. He lived in Metropolis because it was a thriving city where his family had a foot hold on the law. If that changed suddenly, Lex would move without looking back. Bruce would never do that. He'd fight for his city.

The brave idiot.

“Bruce has a heart Lex,” Joker said. “Something you lack.”

This, above anything else, seemed to surprise Lex the most. He turned to Joker, a frown deepening on his brow as an incredulous smile graced his lips.

“Don't tell me you actually think that's noble,” Lex laughed.

“Maybe I just have a soft spot for blue eyed billionaires,” Joker answered nonchalantly. “Or maybe, I'm making an observation on why Bruce hasn't lost his fortune five times over like you. People _like_ Bruce. Gotham likes Bruce. It all comes down to him being a bleeding heart and people are suckers for that.”

“Wayne only has money still because his accountants are well versed,” Lex steamed, the mention to his several falls from grace not taken lightly. “He'll be broke in no time with his spending. And even if he isn't, the Wayne legacy will never be remembered unlike the Luthors.”

Joker gritted his teeth.

“You're just jealous Bruce has a legacy worth remembering,” Joker spat.

Joker and Lex glared at one another. Joker knew he was playing his hand a little heavy, and Lex was a clever man. He would figure out Joker had a thing for Bruce, a thing Joker has yet to be able to end, and that was never good for anyone. But Joker couldn't let this criminal shill insult Bruce in front of him.

Joker's wrist itched where the scalpel lay in wait.

Lex broke the glare first.

“I have places to be, Joker. If you don't mind getting out, I'll be on my way,” Lex gestures to the door, where his body guard and driver, Mercy, was waiting.

“I also have an important meeting to attend with Bruce myself. One he may not come out of,” Joker said with a delighted giggle. “I'll be seeing you Lex.”

Lex startled

“What do you mean he won't come out?” Lex demanded.

Joker blew out his breath. “Geeze. Ask me to leave then demanding to know where I'm going. Sending mixed signals here Lex.”

A vein was beginning to throb on Lex's forehead.

“Don't interfere with Wayne. I still need the idiot until I get him to sign the partnership,” Lex argued, a hand resting on Joker's shoulder, who stared at the offending appendage.

“I'll do what I please,” Joker removed Lex's hand. “Bruce and I have a special relationship. We need a talk.”

“If it's money, I can offer you millions,” Lex folded his hands, attempting a professional air now. “I have a plan to kill Superman in place, and if you stand in for the assassin who through unfortunate circumstances ended his contract early, I will pay you his share. 24 million dollars.”

Joker pretended to think on the subject but honestly the offer was insulting. It was a delay tactic. The money was also horrendously low for what the job was. Killing Superman wasn't on Joker's list of priorities. He didn't have a problem with the boy in blue. He actually quite liked the dumb boy scout enough to play with him on trips to Metropolis.

It wasn't Joker's fault Lex couldn't play nice.

“Assassin work?” Joker asked with turning his nose up. “I can't believe you think I'd sink so low. Honestly, I thought we were friends Lex!”

“It requires a showman,” Lex began, and Joker hated that his ears perked at that. “I need someone to make a show of stealing equipment from my lab. When Superman arrives, the person would have Kryptonite on them, rendering Superman defenseless. You will get to enjoy torturing him as you like, and then leave the lab unharmed, allowing a bomb set inside with enough force to kill three Supermen to go off. And you walk away 24 million dollars richer.”

Joker did love playing with Superman and having him at his mercy did sound like a good time. He always wanted to see if Superman's heart was actually where a human’s was or if it was somewhere else. Like Spock from Star Trek.

Joker looked out the window at Wayne Tower.

He couldn't get distracted by shiny toys. He’s already put off getting his life squared away to have a night out with Batman for long enough. The first step was talking to Bruce. Which he really needed to do.

“Sorry Lex,” Joker said with a grin. “Maybe next time.”

Lex's face darkened, and the hair on the back of Joker's neck stood on end.

“That wasn't an offer,” Lex said as he pushed a hidden button in the limo and covered his face with an oxygen mask.

“You sneaky, son of a bitch,” Joker hissed, flicking his wrist for the scalpel.

What Lex didn't count on was Joker taking the amount to knock out an elephant to go down. What Joker didn't count on was Mercy, the female martial artist Lex had as a body guard to join in.

Joker sliced through the oxygen line on Lex's mask, nearly knocking the man unconscious with his own gas, when Mercy slammed Joker's head into the wooden console. Five times. Joker growled, the blood already pooling from his wounded head and his vision blurring. He knew he managed to cut someone up, but he was out cold before he found out if it was Lex or Mercy.

Joker woke up for the second time today with his head pounding, stomach rolling, and on the floor of a bright white room. The sharp pain above his left ear meant he had a decent wound from Mercy, and with enough force to knock him out means he might have a concussion. This would be a terrible situation for most people, but Joker rolled onto his back and sighed.

This might as well happen.

He had to have been out for hours since he was no longer in Lex's car and definitely not in Gotham anymore. Nothing remained so pristine for longer than a week, and the shining chrome of LEXCORP placed on nearly every surface was a dead giveaway. That left a single conclusion.

Joker was in Lex's lab in Metropolis playing the bait.

Joker threw an arm over his eyes and groaned. The chain pulled at his movement and Joker noticed for the first time the weight hanging there. He peeked to spot a green rock, chipped, and roughly the size of a baseball set into a silver clasp. It was attached to a chain leading around Joker's neck. It was unmistakably Kryptonite.

Oh, this was just lovely.

It took Joker at least ten minutes before he felt confident that he wouldn't hurl when he sat up. Joker inspected his suit and growled. Blood was coating his shoulder from his head wound, soaking into the wool fabric of his jacket, and his suit was creased to hell from laying unconscious in it.

How was he supposed to confront Bruce in a bloody and creased suit?!

Joker stood up slowly, inspecting the room he found himself in. He had to get out before Lex's plan went into action, if it hasn't already. The lack of alarms blaring was encouraging but the fact that there wasn't a single person in sight was discouraging.

The glass wall displayed the other side of the lab. Several tables filled with beakers, lab equipment, and cabinets lined the outer wall. On the other side, a blank wall. Behind Joker a wall with a single door, and in front, the same. If Joker had to guess, he was in the observation room to the lab.

Perfect. He was a lab rat.

Joker laughed, then winced when his head gave a sharp jolt. He tapped his head when the pain resonated from and checked for any fresh blood. He was relieved it was all dry, but it caked in his hair.

Probably not the best look.

Joker wandered to the door and checked it for any switches, mechanical parts, or panels that would allow him to escape. There wasn't anything obvious to spot. A sealed door, no handles on the inside. Joker went to the glass and inspected the edges to see how thick it was. A decent two inches. Most likely bulletproof.

There was a single camera in the corner of the room. No doubt Lex was hidden away somewhere safe, probably miles away, watching.

Joker sighed and sat down against the wall. There wasn't an obvious way out, not yet. But the opportunity would come soon enough. All he had to do was wait. In the mean time, he had a revenge plan against Lex to hatch.

Ten minutes later, Joker’s head was pounding, and his stomach tossed hard enough he was forced to put a hand over his mouth, least he vomits. He was most likely dehydrated again and the concussion he was most likely sporting by this point wasn't doing him any favors.

There was little warning before the door on the other side made a horrible sound like screaming as it was crushed beneath two hands. Joker watched as the door was ripped from its hinges and tossed aside like paper.

Superman had arrived, and Joker's head pounded at the sound.

Joker clamped his hands over his ears, groaning.

“Keep it down Supes,” Joker mumbled before the hero could start his speech. “Some of us are trying to die peacefully in here.”

Superman didn't retort, just walked towards him most likely to capture Joker and bring him back to Gotham like a sack of unwanted potatoes. But, when the boy scout got close enough for the Kryptonite to affect him, he collapsed. Joker peeked.

“You really need to get a better weakness,” Joker said, and pushed himself up to a standing position. “This stupid plan shouldn't work.”

“Then why are you doing it?” asked Superman, his voice already straining.

“I'm not.”

With that, Joker headed to the open doorway Superman left, taking the Kryptonite with him. If there was any luck, Superman would go after Lex for this and Joker wouldn't have to worry about getting revenge. After all, he had a lot on his plate already.

Before Joker made it to the door, a red light blinked, and a new steel door sealed the exit. Joker stared at it, knowing that smug bastard was watching, probably anticipating Joker exiting when Superman arrived.

“Well… shit.” Joker muttered, sliding down the wall, and sitting.

The room was eerily quiet for a few seconds. Then, Superman pushed himself up to a sitting position, panting as his back pressed against the wall. He eyed Joker from his spot, looking like he was waiting for something to happen. But Joker was busy pressing his fingers into his temples trying to not throw up.

“You're not part of the plan, are you?” Superman asked.

“What gave it away?” Joker mumbled. “The head wound or the lack of my usual enthusiasm?”

“How did you end up in Lex’s lab?” Superman inquired, his voice thankfully lowered, and not responding to the sarcasm.

“Pretty sure Lexi kidnapped me,” Joker replied, his eyes pinched shut against the harsh florescent lights. “Last I remember, I was in a limo outside Wayne Tower. Now, I’m here with kryptonite around my neck in Metropolis.”

There was a pause.

“Why were you at Wayne Tower?”

Joker would have laughed if his stomach wasn’t threatening harm against it. The story of how he ended up at Wayne Tower was long, and probably full of details Superman really didn’t want to know. Joker peeked through his eyes at Superman, who had pushed his back against a wall, trying to slowly get further from the kryptonite affects. Not that Joker could blame him. He’d hate it if a rock took away all his strength.

But, seeing as how the boy in blue wasn’t going anywhere any time soon since it would take around an hour for Superman's body to absorb enough of the Kryptonite for this terrible plan of Lex's to work, and Joker really wanted another ear to hear his sad tale…

“Well, you see Supes, I was minding my own business in Arkham when I saw the news report,” Joker began.

He went through his week leading up to his kidnapping, watching Superman’s face flush, and burn at the details provided from Joker’s sex life. Though, Joker did at least spare him the more vivid details of Waylon, and his play with Two-Face. A quip and a summary were all Superman would need, but then his story became less jovial when he reached Bruce.

He skipped the part where Bruce and he fucked. Something tightened in his chest, and he couldn’t blame that on the hangover or the head wound. He wanted to keep that little part of his week to himself. Something that was only his.

He summarized his drinking with some fewer known rogues in Gotham and skipped the part where he’s pretty sure he may have killed Waylon in the sewers in a drunken rage. He may have also left out the bit where he jumped into the wrong limo.

“What’s a guy supposed to do when he finds himself in love with two different people?” Joker asked, sitting next to Superman who winced from the glowing green rock every time it swung near him. “I mean, that’s a lot of pressure on someone who isn’t sure he was capable of loving one person, let alone two!”

“H-have you t-told Mr. Wayne?” Superman asked, who was valiantly keeping up with the story despite his obvious pain. Joker could appreciate that.

“No,” Joker sighed. “I mean, I may have gotten the message across when I tried to kill him.”

“You—why? Why w-would you?” Superman stuttered.

“Because, Supey, I can’t have a normal life,” Joker said.

Another pause.

“Y-you s-sound like a f-friend of mine,” Superman had the audacity to smile at that.

“Does he have pointy ears, and a penchant for wearing black?” Joker questioned with a grin. “Batman and I are meant to be together. It just makes sense. He’s my order, and I’m his chaos. But Bruce is…”

“Stability?” Superman wheezed out, shifting away from the rock again. “We all need it from time to time.”

“Even you?” Joker grinned.

“Especially superheroes,” Superman responded seriously.

Joker sucked on his lower lip, thinking it over. Bruce was a pretty stable guy, all things considered. The vast amounts of money helped maintain a certain lifestyle and an ease that Joker never seemed to quite grasp. Bruce made things easy. Dinner was taken care of, his travel, his shopping, his whole day with Bruce was an exercise in luxury.

Bruce also calmed him down from the shop when Joker had panicked over his appearance. When Joker reached that point during other moments in his life, people died. Joker grounded himself in murder and mayhem, but Bruce did that just by wrapping an arm around him. That was before they even had dinner.

Their night together was pure pleasure, until Joker had to bring emotions to it.

“He’s… he’s stable,” Joker offered, running a hand through his hair, pressing at his temple against the headache. He refused to admit he wanted or needed stability though. “He’s also horribly normal.”

“A b-billionaire w-with a playboy lifestyle t-took out the city’s biggest threat on a d-date. Forgive me if that seems anything b-but normal,” Superman commented. “And coming from an alien, I know abnormal.”

Joker smiled. Superman had a point. Despite all of Bruce’s well-groomed behavior, his presence that seemed to soothe all those that were around him, and his ease with controlling a situation, Bruce was a mystery. What sort of man would be willing, well, semi-willingly go on a date with Joker? Even more so, what sort of man would fuck Joker senseless in his bed? Three times at that.

Joker squirmed thinking about it. Bruce was an amazing lay, Joker will give him that. And a generous lover.

Though, Joker may have ruined that path for the foreseeable future. The expression on Bruce’s face when Joker looked back before leaving, made his something unpleasant twist in his chest. He knew his chance with Bruce was most likely a one in a billion and he had ruined it. Joker wanted to vomit but this time it wasn’t from his headache.

“I messed up Supes,” Joker said, pushing at his temples. He wished the pain would go away, and the stupid ache in his chest. He took in a breath, and realized he was on the verge of sobbing.

Great. Not only was he kidnapped by Lex, who shouldn’t have been able to do that on a normal week, sick from alcohol, a possible concussion from being knocked out, a few fractured ribs, along with a hundred bruises, but he was seconds away from gross sobbing into Superman’s shoulder.

What the hell was this week anyways? Did they slip Joker some medication in Arkham when he wasn’t paying attention? Even so, it should have worn off by now.

He tensed when he felt Superman’s hand on his shoulder. He hadn't even heard the man move. God, he was really gone.

“I won’t begin to s-say I understand you, b-because I don’t,” Superman said, his grip weak, but Joker appreciated the gesture. “But, if B-Batman and Mr. Wayne mean this much to you, you should talk to them.”

“ _Pfft_ ,” Joker spat. “What is with everyone and _talking_? I communicate just fine.”

“Then why a-are you telling me your problems instead of them?” Superman raised a brow, his point made.

Joker scowled. He hated when other people were right and hated it even more when it was pointed out to him. He had been talking to a lot of people this week about his emotions, and relationship with Batman, but the one person he had yet to say a word to was Batman. But that was just it. Joker shouldn’t need to say anything to Batman. He was the world’s greatest detective, and between all of Joker’s proclamations of love, surely the man had picked up on them? There was no way Joker was being subtle. Which means, it might have been taken the wrong way.

“When I say I love Batman, do you think I’m joking?” Joker asked.

“Honestly?” Superman gave him a shake of his head. “I always thought you said it to strike a nerve in Batman. Make him question himself. I never thought you were serious about it, until today.”

Joker was gob smacked. His mouth opened but no words came out. A _joke_? His declarations of love made with the bodies of Gotham’s citizens, fires burning the decayed face of the city to ash, and Joker standing above it all in his best suit, and they thought he was _joking_?! The punchline was the _act_ of his love, not his _actual_ love!

Did _none_ of them understand comedy? Did _Batman_?

Joker sprung to his feet, teeth bared, and fists clenched. Before he even knew he was moving, his fist connected with Superman’s face.

“A JOKE?!” Joker screamed, another hit to Superman, and the man fell.

It shouldn’t be this easy, and Joker’s hand hurt like hell. The cut splitting when he struck but Joker grinned against the pain. He needed it. It sang in his body and made him focus on the groaning man.

“I pour my heart, and soul out during my encounters, and all of you think it’s funny?” Joker hissed, grabbing Superman by the front of his uniform. The glow from the Kryptonite casting a sickly green light on Superman’s chiseled features as they pinched.

“I-I don’t t-think it’s a j-joke,” Superman stuttered, his lips starting to turn white.

“Good!” Joker said, shaking the man, even as his vision blurred from the sudden movements. “Because it ISN’T! Just because I don’t express myself in a way that you understand doesn’t mean it isn’t right. My feelings for Batman aren’t a joke…”

Joker swallowed thickly against the bile rising in his throat.

“My feelings for Bruce aren’t either,” Joker whispered, his grip on Superman loosening enough to allow the Superhero to slip.

He watched Superman writhe on the floor, making pitiful sounds, and then up at the camera in the corner of the room. He could imagine Lex sitting behind a monitor having a good laugh about all this right now. After all, the greatest punchlines were always other people.

Joker tore the Kryptonite from his neck and threw it at the camera. It hit the metal and bounced off but not before it dented the side. Joker picked up the rock and threw it again. And again. And again. Until the camera was knocked off the wall, completely inert, and smoking.

Joker shoved the Kryptonite into the camera for good measure.

Joker attempted a laugh, but it came out as a sob. He snapped his mouth closed trying to stop the onslaught, as his own voice was making the pounding in his head worse, but it was just too much. He collapsed to the floor with all his energy burned on killing that stupid camera.

Joker buried his head in his hands, curling his knees up, trying to make himself small. He hated crying. It was useless. Laughter was a much better alternative, and whatever made him what to shed a tear was usually solved by a bit of acid or a bullet. This time, the problem wasn’t so simple.

He didn’t want to kill Batman, _or_ Bruce. Batman was his reason for being. Without Batman, crime had no punchline, the jokes fell flat. Joker couldn’t have that. He would cease to exist without his straight man. Bruce was no better now. There was a certain ease that came with being near Bruce. Joker felt a performer’s high being near the man. Bruce was his audience. Appreciative, and adorning. What was a comedian without his crowd? And Bruce was the best crowd.

Bruce even went along with his jokes.

His sobbing only made his head pound, which made him want to cry more, which repeated the cycle until his body was being wracked with it.

He could hear Superman shuffling behind him, still weakened by the kryptonite. He was vulnerable, and Joker could easily take his anger out on the man. It would be like kicking a sweet puppy.

He didn’t want to kill Superman, even when it was this easy to do so. Right now, Joker wanted someone to comfort him, and wanted that someone to also hit Lex Luthor in the face for causing this trouble. Superman just happen to be the only person available for the job.

“Any chance I could get that legendary hug everyone talks about?” Joker asked half-heartedly.

The reaction from Superman was swift. Joker felt two powerful arms wrap around him and was pulled into a chest hard enough to feel like warm steel. Joker buried his face into Superman, wanting to hide his crying, and put pressure on his forehead to relieve the pain.

It was nice. The holding part. Joker could see some of the appeal to this and knows why some of Superman’s villains complimented him on how comforting he could be. He even saw why a bossy woman like Lois Lane would be charmed by the one-dimensional super father.

How much time had passed?

“Supes, there’s something I gotta tell you,” Joker said, his voice hindered by his face being smashed into Superman.

“What’s that?” Superman asked, his voice vibrating.

“I just remembered there’s a bomb here,” Joker replied.

That gave them just a few seconds warning where Superman covered Joker's body with his own, before the lab exploded.


	7. Bruce's Week

There was a rule in the Wayne Manor for everyone, including Bruce. The first Sunday of the month was reserved for family dinners. This included those not related by blood but by duty.

Barbara would come early as usual to assist Alfred in setting up the table. Dick would drive in from Blüdhaven ready to share tales from his last month in fighting crime. Hopefully without his arm in a sling or too many bruises. Tim would retreat from the Teen Titans for only how long it took to eat, then return. The last few months had been harsh on the young team, and Tim was determined to assist them back into fighting shape.

Bruce couldn’t be prouder.

 They hadn’t managed to convince Jason to come to the dinners regularly, but every now and again, he would show up. Tim always stayed longer when he did, the two in deep conversations. Bruce tried his best to stay out of their way when that occurred, just happy to have his boys together.

Cassandra appeared in the manor like a phantom on these days. She made it a point of sneaking up on the family whenever possible, and Bruce didn’t have the heart to ask her to stop. If anything, they all needed the reminder to stay alert. Especially Jason who had been flattened twice when he reacted poorly to Cassie’s surprise.

Barbara was the most amused by these events.

Kate was also difficult to get to come to dinners. With all the trouble between her sister, and love life, Bruce couldn’t demand she stop in even if he missed his cousin. He did send out invitations every month to her, so she would know she was welcomed. It was the least he could do, and Alfred informed of it frequently.

The newest member to their dinner was Selina.

It wasn’t an easy transition as Jason and Tim seemed disinterested in her at best. Barbara was polite but distant, and Cassie didn’t appear to care one way or the other if Selina showed up. Dick was the only person who engaged Selina in conversation, but Dick was good like that.

Bruce hoped that was enough.

There was another rule during their dinners. No superhero items at the table.

This was a harder rule than showing up and Bruce was breaking it tonight. He had a feeling in his gut that something was going to go wrong. The Joker was too quiet in Arkham, and Bruce didn’t want to miss that mad man if he escaped.

Bruce hid the transmitter under his tie. It would vibrate only if an escape alarm was triggered at Arkham. He hoped it didn’t go off.

The dinner was good, if a little tense. Selina had chosen to join them this time, but Bruce had been able to direct the conversation to other topics besides what places she may or may not have stolen from. Alfred was clever as always and had placed Selina beside Bruce and Dick, with Barbara across. It gave them a buffer to work with, and Bruce was happy he didn’t have to attempt to put out any fires.

He wasn’t the best at that.

They had dessert in the pallor and much to Bruce’s relief the transmitter had been silent. Tim and Jason had taken up a corner of the room, both speaking in hushed tones, most likely about their recent adventures. Alfred had cleared his throat a few times when passing, making the boys begin speaking about more pleasant things.

Dick and Barbara were discussing new network designs being brought into Blüdhaven by the new mayor. Barbara had very strong opinions on the cabling and server work being done which wasn’t a surprise to anyone. She had her fingertips in all progressive areas when it came to networking technology and security. Bruce would wager she was better than Fox on network protocols and hacking.

Cassie was watching everyone from her corner, sequestering two desserts for herself which only Bruce caught. Though he suspected Alfred also knew, as he retreated into the kitchen to serve another round of desserts before Jason noticed his was missing.

Which left Selina and Bruce to themselves on the couch.

“You’ve been rather quiet tonight,” Selina mentioned and then with a playful smirk, “I mean, more than usual.”

Only through years of training did Bruce resist the urge to tug at his tie where the transmitter laid. Selina wasn’t quite as sharp as his boys, but she wasn’t a slouch either. A tell like that would have given him away.

“I’m just enjoying the company,” Bruce answered, and it was true. Despite the difficulty of getting his family in one place, he enjoyed their time. Just seeing them in one room made his chest ease.

Selina took it as another kind of hint, moving closer to Bruce, with lidded eyes.

“Is that so?” she asked, her shoulder rubbing against Bruce.

Bruce opened his mouth, about to say something about her making it easy to enjoy, when his transmitter vibrated. It was only a split second of hesitation, of Bruce becoming aware of what that meant, and trying not to get caught, when Selina narrowed her eyes.

She was quick as well.

The argument was swift, and painful for everyone in the room. Alfred was disappointed Bruce brought something of tech with him to the family dinner while Tim and Cassie left without a word, but neither gave any judgments on Bruce's choice. They both understood the temptation. They merely wanted to escape the fight. Dick had to calm Jason enough that Jason didn’t try to head out to take on Joker by himself.

There would never be peace for Jason until he confronted Joker, and while Bruce understood that, he wasn’t sure who would survive the meeting.

Barbara was the only person who gave Bruce a smile, already leaving to the Batcave to assist with the hunt. She would never judge Bruce for keeping a closer eye on the clown. She even pulled out her own alert, it blinked red from under her shirt sleeve, before she left the room.

Selina was the worst. Bruce took the abuse, even if he didn’t believe her words. Didn’t want to believe them. That Bruce was obsessed with the Joker, and maybe Joker was right. Maybe they did belong together since neither could allow anyone else to take over.

It hurt.

Bruce knew it was out of anger, in fear. Selina rarely let anyone get so close to her, and the family hadn’t been quite as welcoming as it could have been. That was Bruce’s fault for not seeing it. He would take that on as something he would need to work on.

He had to be better. Not just as Batman, but as Bruce.

Bruce sped up the Batmobile as he entered the straight away into Arkham Island. He was already delayed far too long and hoped he could catch Joker on the outskirts. It may be a complete wash to go to the asylum since it wouldn’t give Bruce the trail he needed.

By the time he reached the woods, Joker’s trail was going soft. Bruce followed it, hoping the mud would harden, hold the shape of Joker’s footsteps enough to tell which way the clown was going. Bruce found a pair of Arkham issued slippers under some bushes still wet from the mud, and recently worn.

The cold ground was going to make it harder for Joker to travel in, but also difficult to track.

By the time Bruce returned to Gotham, the trail was almost impossible to track. It wasn’t abnormal for Joker to be good at covering his trails, especially when he wanted to. The issue was, Bruce was delayed in following. If he had only left the house twenty minutes sooner, he would have captured Joker or at least seen him by now.

Bruce huffed. There was no use in dwelling on what could have been. He went down that path enough to know where it led, and it wasn’t anyplace he wanted to return to.

His best bet was going by the roof tops and attempting to catch up to Joker’s path. Barbara had hacked the security cameras of the city watching for Joker and found someone matching his build in a nearby mall. It would provide cover for his escape, and Bruce thought there was a decent chance it was Joker.

He circled the area, knowing Joker was pinned down somewhere nearby. On his second trip around, Dick joined him as Nightwing. Together, they split the patrol route and continued the manhunt. Barbara backed them up by alerting the police to the area, cutting off Joker’s routes out of the four-block radius.

 It took an embarrassing amount of time before Bruce realized why they hadn’t found Joker yet, when he saw the slid marks leading right into the sewers. They were almost a half-hour old and allowed Joker to travel anywhere in the city without being stopped. Too far gone for them to do anything but wait for the clown to surface.

Bruce sent Barbara home, and Dick stayed the night without Bruce having to ask, knowing he needed to let off steam. Dick was better at picking up moods without words, something Bruce admired him for. They sparred until they nearly passed out, and Alfred forced them to bed.

Bruce went to work as usual for a Monday, allowing Alfred to take over the investigation for where Joker may be hiding. Bruce and Alfred had a routine on these things. Bruce would go out as Batman, and until return, would leave any loose threads running on the computer in the cave. Alfred would check on the systems, often following leads over their vast resources, while Bruce focused on work.

The mistake many people made was thinking Bruce’s job as CEO and Owner of Wayne Enterprises was merely a cover. It was far more than that. It was the other half to Bruce’s life. His parents left him the company, just as they left him with a sense of justice, morality, and kindness. It would behoove Bruce to care of that legacy. Which is why he sat through every meeting, read all the paperwork himself, and did his own audits on where the vast fortunes of the company went to.

Bruce spent much of the day arguing over allowing Lexcorp partner with them on a solar project. Bruce knew from his work as Batman what sort of shady deals the man got up to, and while partnering with the man allowed him to look at the company’s books with a fine-toothed comb, it wasn’t worth the risk.

Bruce could feel a headache brewing when he agreed to meet with Lex later in the week to discuss a possible partnership, but they all agreed Bruce would have final say once the presentation was completed. That was as good as it got some days.

Bruce hoped Alfred was doing better.

The lead in the sewers was all they had, and Bruce wasn’t looking forward to crawling down there. He had to in order to find out where Joker surfaced. The man had been quiet compared to his usual break outs, and that was never a good sign.

Bruce followed the trail, following the footprints left on the sides of the tunnels left by Joker’s bare feet. Bruce got a small kick out of knowing Joker detested the trip and would need to get scrubbed down in order to remove the stench.

The tunnels led far away from Joker’s starting point, well out of the radius of the police blockade and Bruce’s patrolling route. Bruce was almost impressed Joker managed to make it so far in the tunnels alone, without a light, and during a cold night in just his Arkham uniform. It made Bruce wonder if Joker had frost bite on his feet from this trip and made a mental note to check when he caught the clown next.

Bruce paused when he heard someone moving around in the sewers, and barely dodged out of Croc’s clawed reach.

“What are you doing in my territory Batman?” Croc growled, already taking another swing, which Batman ducked under with ease, now that he could see his attacker.

“I’m not after you today, Waylon,” Bruce said, his voice deepened to his pitch used as Batman. “Last night Joker came through. Did you see him?”

“The clown?” Croc asked, his furious expression changing to an unpleasant smile. Bruce felt the hairs on his arm raise as Croc leered. “I saw him last night… lots of him in fact. He tastes sweet.”

Bruce knew what that tone implied when spoken by people at parties. He narrowed his eyes at Croc, anger clenching at his chest. He didn’t think Waylon was capable of raping anyone, it wasn’t his modus operandi. But he could eat someone, and Bruce worried that Joker may have lost a limb, or more, to the giant.

“Did you attack him?” Bruce asked, his voice calmer than he felt.

“Maybe,” Croc replied, his head tilting, and that smile still on his lips. “He is a fun toy. I see why you play with him so much.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a decent fuck when you shut his mouth up.”

Bruce isn’t proud of the fact that he punched Croc in the face or that he immediately left the sewers without finding Joker’s exit point. He still had control over his body, his anger, and didn’t want to break Croc’s arms for a comment. He also didn’t want Croc to elaborate on what he meant as the image would be seared onto Bruce’s mind if he did.

A quick shower in one of the many hidden places Bruce had around Gotham, and a new suit, he was out on the prowl again.

There were only a few people in Gotham Joker would trust enough to go to after an escape. Harley was out of town with Ivy, so that left out all their usual hideouts out of the question. Riddler was a possible ally, but they recently got on bad terms over a turf war right before Batman locked up Joker in Arkham last time.

That left Cobblepot.

“I haven’t seen that raving manic,” Cobblepot blandly replied while leaning back in his chair. “Why, I thought he was still locked up in the asylum. Are you to say our good hospital can’t keep their patients in check?”

Bruce clenched his fist to prevent him from knocking Cobblepot out of his chair. It was tempting.

“I don’t know Cobblepot,” Bruce said with his voice low. “ _I_ haven’t been a patient there.”

The _unlike you_ part was implied and got the reaction Bruce wanted. Cobblepot straightened, the arrogance leaving him, and rage boiled just under his skin. Cobblepot was a tricky person to interrogate. Get him too angry, and he won’t talk at all, but let him stay on his high horse, and he will run circles around anyone. There was a fine balance, and Bruce was very good at balancing.

“What do you hope to accomplish,” Cobblepot asked and Bruce knew he had him tipped just right.

“I know Joker came to you last night,” Bruce said, not having proof, but by the slight widening of Cobblepot’s eyes, he didn’t need it. “Tell me what you gave him, where he went, and I’ll think about not telling the commissioner about your basement gambling hall.”

Cobblepot hated him, but that was alright. Bruce didn’t need him to. He just needed him to talk, and he did.

The night ended with Bruce stopping a small armed robbery, and far less clues than he wanted on Joker’s whereabouts. He had the make and model of the car Cobblepot gave him, as well as the contents of Joker’s personal bag. It wasn’t much to go on, but Bruce gave the information to Barbara to run through the computers.

With any luck they should pick up something on a traffic camera.

It turned out they didn’t need to wait on the traffic cams as two police reports showed up stating that Harvey Dent was temporarily held hostage by the clown and later that same day, a group in Couple's Therapy also received a visit. The police had searched the areas, but Joker had made a quick escape before they were able to locate him, missing him by seconds each time apparently. He also threatened a bomb in the building which made the local news and gave Bruce a migraine.

The police were left scrambling at the bomb threat at Harvey's place, clearing a two-block radius. Gordon had headed that one. Then, just when the team had concluded the clown was making it up, they received a frantic call by a Counselor stating Joker had crashed their session and left a pipe bomb behind.

Despite the earlier threat being a dud, they couldn't risk it. Gordon sent the whole bomb squad which turned out to be a real bomb. Though, it wasn't triggered at all or remotely connected in any way.

For Joker, both stunts while costly, were relatively harmless.

Bruce spent an hour going over the reports from each case. The Couple's Therapy group was already being interviewed by every news station in Gotham on their experience. It didn't take long for Bruce to put together what occurred with the group. Joker inquired on relationship advice. Not for him and Harley, but for Batman.

That left an uncomfortable pit in his stomach.

Harvey had been taken into police custody while they searched his building. Bruce thought about calling Harvey as a friendly ear but decided against it. They hadn’t been close in years and it would feel out of place. This was one of the times Bruce really wished he made time to catch up with Harvey.

Another thing he needed to get better about.

Bruce decided his time was best invested in reaching out to Harvey for details on Joker as Bruce doubted, he would get more out of the group than the press.

Visiting Harvey as Batman was always a tad on the awkward side, since they had been friends well before Harvey had his mental breakdown. Bruce still considered them friends after all this time but was shameful of not helping his friend more. Back when he could as Bruce.

“Dent,” Bruce greeted.

“Batman.”

It wasn’t as cold as Bruce feared, but far from the warmth he hoped for.

“I heard about Joker,” Bruce said, stepping closer to the man sitting on his couch. Harvey sighed.

“Everyone’s heard about him being here,” Harvey sneered. “It’s why I only got home ten minutes ago. It feels like I’ve been questioned by every cop in Gotham and had every reporter shove mic in my face. Now, I have Batman in my living room. Hell of a day.”

Bruce knew that. He had spent the last hour going over every inch of Harvey’s apartment looking for anything the police might have missed. He had found a few things that differed from Harvey’s reports, and intended to find out why Harvey didn’t disclose them.

“Why did you let him in?”

“Let him?” Harvey asked incredulous. “You don’t _let_ Joker do anything. He does what he wants, when he wants.”

Batman pulled out the rope he found in Harvey’s room. Bondage rope, that had clearly been used, and not on Harvey. He threw the rope at Harvey’s feet and Harvey paled.

“Want to tell me what really happened?”

“The clown tied me up,” Harvey said, his eyes shifting. He never was a good liar.

“Whoever was tied up in these would have bruising, which you're lacking,” Bruce explained, stepping closer, and making Harvey shrink back. “Not to mention the dried blood that is barely a day old, and traces of makeup. Combine that with the paddle I found…”

Bruce let the sentence linger as Harvey sweated. It was clear that Harvey wasn't held against his will. He let Joker in and tied him up. The real question was why Harvey did that, and why would Joker want it.

Harvey lit a cigarette first, and Bruce thought that was fair. This wasn’t going to be a comfortable talk for either one of them. The new information that Harvey and Joker had a BDSM relationship wasn’t something Bruce ever wanted to know about, or how Joker insisted on the heavier punishments.

It also didn’t fit into what Bruce already thought of about the Joker. Bruce would have thought Joker was the top in any sexual relationship as the man always demanded control of everything. The fact that he allowed someone to dominate him was new, and Bruce hated that it made him picture Joker on his knees.

“I can see you have more questions,” Harvey said, already on his second cigarette by this point.

“I never thought Joker would want that,” Bruce admitted.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t realized that Joker is a sub,” Harvey said with a smirk. “I mean, he does beg you to beat him, and hit him when you two fight, doesn’t he?”

He does.

But Bruce always thought that was because Joker wanted Bruce to lose control, not due to sexual desire. That put a very uncomfortable spin on all their previous interactions and sharpened the picture. It was the piece of the puzzle Bruce was missing, and he wasn’t sure he was happy to have it.

“He’s in love with you, you know,” Harvey said far too casually. “He’d burn the world to the ground for you. The only problem with him is, he’d do that even if you don’t _want_ him to.”

“Would he do that for you?” Bruce asked.

“No,” Harvey said, putting out his cigarette. “If I ever asked, he’d kill me and probably laugh over my corpse.”

Bruce left after that, not knowing how he felt about the new knowledge on Joker, and the sensation of panic swirling in his gut. He thought he had a clear picture of who Joker was. They had been interacting for years, the clown being the source of many of Bruce's nightmares, and reasons he pushed himself so hard in training.

The idea that Joker was into kink wasn't what was so surprising. If he had a purely vanilla sex life, Bruce might have been thrown. It was the idea that Joker had a relationship with someone that involved trust.

That was something Bruce thought the clown wasn't capable of.

He knew Harvey saw the drugging as Joker being untrusting, but Bruce didn't think that covered everything. If he was just worried about Harvey calling the cops, he could have cut the phone lines, tied Harvey up, or just killed him. There were plenty of other options that Joker has used in the past to keep someone from talking.

There was another reason for the drugging. It gave Harvey a solid alibi. How could Harvey been held accountable for Joker's actions when he threatened harm on his neighbor to gain entry, and then drugged Harvey?

Gordon would have spotted the lack of bruising on Harvey in a second, but a regular cop filing a report? Easily missed. Gordon would be busy dealing with the bomb threat, not Harvey. It was like one of Joker's schemes. He planned everything with an unconscious precision. The ropes, the threats, and the drugging ensured Harvey Dent's second chance was not at risk.

Somehow, Bruce believed Joker did it on purpose, and that surprised him more than anything else.

Bruce retired for the night with a report from Barbara. She located the vehicle Joker was using from Penguin and had it tracked to a quarter mile radius. If he used it the next day, they could follow him to his hideout and capture him without bloodshed if all went well.

All he could do was wait.

The next day at the office was a blur. Bruce had spent every morning meeting defending his stance on not immediately signing a partnership with Lexcorp. The offers coming from Lex were very generous and would most likely yield high profit margins for the next five years with minimal risk to the Wayne stocks.

It was a deal too good to be true and Bruce wondered what the angle was.

He pulled all the contract information and began pouring over it with his Executive Director Lucius Fox. They ordered in lunch and read until Bruce's eyes could no longer take it. He gave a digital copy of the contracts to Lucius to work over the evening.

The worst part was having to reschedule all his meetings for later. He would have to return to the office or take all the calls at the manor. Bruce hated bringing his Wayne Enterprises work home, which meant staying in the city tonight. His Pent House would have to do.

He dialed Alfred to bring the car around front to avoid the obvious reporters who sniffed out the potential deal between Lexcorp and Wayne Enterprises. He was already hounded in the building, he didn't need more of it outside. He also needed a relaxing dinner, and perhaps some company.

He wondered if he could convince one of his sons to join him on patrol. It had been too long since he worked with them consistently. Tim was also bugging him into getting a new Robin or asking Jason to come back. Bruce didn't believe they were there yet. Bruce still had a lot to make up for. But the question was always at the tip of his tongue whenever they crossed paths.

Bruce made his way out of Wayne Tower, using the sight of his limo like a beacon. He waved and smiled at a few employees as he passed even as his steps quickened. He gave a genuine smile to Alfred as the man held the door for him and slid into the comfort of the leather seats.

Then he spotted someone getting inside.

A tall, leggy woman with an obvious red wig, heavy mascara, blood lips, and a wicked smile. Her dress was borderline obscene, resting up her milky thighs nearly to hips, and had a bust window. She had masculine features, high cheeks, forward brow, and a strong chin. Bruce found her attractive, if a bit odd.

Bruce smiled automatically, ready to deal with a crazed fan, or a potential threat. Either way, seeming to be at ease was a good defense.

“I don't believe we've met,” Bruce greeted.

The smile widened, and something tightened in Bruce’s gut.

“Oh darling, I think we have,” responded with a voice that even disguised Bruce would know it anywhere. It was Joker.

Bruce’s body tightened instinctually, ready for a fight or to dodge an oncoming attack from the Joker. It took every bit of his control not to lunge forward and subdue the man on the spot. He had been a day behind Joker since his escape, and he just showed up in Bruce’s limo, looking like a woman of the street.

Bruce’s eyes scanned Joker once more for potential hiding spots for weapons. The dress was fit snug with padding to fill in his narrow hips. Something could be in there. The bust was fake and could also be worrisome. The glittery clutch purse was another and a far more likely suspect of any hidden weapons.

Bruce would need to get that from him.

Joker appeared to be assumed by him, stretching his legs over Bruce’s thighs, and Bruce glared. He wanted nothing more than to shove the man off, tell him not to invade his space, but that wasn’t possible. Anything could set Joker off, and that was the last thing Bruce wanted to do.

“Now, no screaming or trying to get away from me,” Joker warned, wagging a finger. “Or something terrible will happen.”

“What do you want Joker?” Bruce spat out.

Alfred, who had climbed into the driver’s seat gasped. Bruce kept his eyes on Joker, willing him to not focus on Alfred. It was the last thing Bruce needed was for Alfred to get into the middle of whatever _this_ was.

“Oh, something really simple actually,” Joker began, leaning back in the seat, and rubbing his legs on Bruce. All Bruce could do was clench his jaw. “I want you to show me a good time today. Pretend I’m one of your many dates and take me around town like you would any of them. You do that, and I’ll be on my very best behavior. That’s not so hard, is it?”

Bruce wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the Joker and whatever plan he thought up, but this certainly wasn’t on the list. Between the obvious relations Joker had with Waylon in the sewers, then his visit to Harvey, and now wanting to date Bruce of all people, there was something unnerving about this week. Bruce’s mind was working over time to solve a puzzle that he simply needed more pieces to complete.

It only took a few seconds, but the decision was made. Bruce was going to take Joker on the date he so desired and would figure out what Joker was up to.

Bruce just didn’t expect it to turn out the way it did.

The first thing Bruce had to do was get Joker separated from his purse to inspect the object for anything harmful. An easy way to do that, and not have the media believe Bruce Wayne had picked up a hooker, was to dress Joker appropriately for a night on the town. An arrogant playboy was the easiest mask to wear while he worked to stay a few steps ahead of Joker.

The Gotham Boutique was a discreet shop that many of the rich brought mistresses and escorts to without the media knowing. They were low key, extremely professional, and best of all, staffed with the toughest ladies in Gotham.

Bruce watched as Joker was manhandled by the women as he spoke quietly to the owner about his needs for privacy, and to ensure no one could recognize the date he brought in. They were sought out for a reason by the wealthy.

“Of course, we can accommodate your needs,” the owner, Bridgette said. She gave a professional pause before, “What are we looking at for costs? Perhaps, a range you would like to stay in?”

“A woman like that deserves the best, and I intend to provide,” Bruce replied with a charming smile as he watched the women drape fabrics over Joker, who was looking increasingly annoyed. Bruce was already coming up with ways to make Joker regret trying to strong arm him into a date. “A full treatment. From head to toe.”

“Understood,” Bridgette said, and pulled a woman aside. “I want her feet soaked, measurements done, and get Helen on the line. We’ll need jewelry to compliment the outfit.”

“Right away,” answered the woman, who dashed off to complete the task.

Bridgette turned back to Bruce with a professional smile.

“We will make sure, Miss. Vivian is ready for the evening and outfits to spare for where ever the night takes you,” Bridgette said, and Bruce took out his credit card.

“No need to confirm with me the cost,” Bruce placed the card in Bridgette’s eager hands, and with a wink added, “I think I can cover it.”

“Of course!” And with that Bridgette went to oversee Joker’s makeover personally.

When Joker was dragged into the dressing room, and Bruce was ensured they would keep him there for at least twenty minutes, Bruce made a quick call to Barbara.

“What the fuck, Bruce,” was Barbara’s greeting to him, and Bruce already expected it.

“I am going to keep my ear piece in during this _date_ , and I need you to listen in. We’ll need at least two others keeping watch tonight encase this is a trap of some sort,” Bruce said quickly, his eyes watching the dressing room, and worried about the ladies. When Joker yelped, and the girls giggled, Bruce almost panicked. But no screaming followed.

Bruce still wanted to check but held back. Barely.

“You’re not really going through with this are you?” Barbara asked.

“It’s either I do this and maybe find out what he is up to, or I refuse, and he lashes out. Besides, this is the closest I’ve gotten to him this whole week. It might be a chance to capture him without endangering anyone,” Bruce busied himself by opening Joker’s purse to check for weapons. There was a pack of gum, lipstick, and a note.

Bruce pulled it out and read:

_I’d wash my hands if I were you. - J_

Bruce cursed under his breath and went into the bathroom. He smelled his hands for any chemicals and rubbed his fingertips together to spot any powder or residue. There wasn’t anything obviously wrong with his hands, and Bruce was wary of following any directions given by Joker.

The whole time Barbara was on the ear piece, waiting for Bruce to explain why he cursed.

“Are there any known chemicals that are odorless, powderless, that can harm through skin contact, and transfer through surface contact?” Bruce asked, already running through his own mental list. Nothing obvious came up for him.

Barbara and he went through the information, and ultimately decided to use the saline wash left in the limo for when Batman made unexpected trips in the back seat. Alfred brought it in, along with a few discrete pellets. Bruce washed his hands and hid the new items in his pockets.

Two smoke pellets, and a gunpowder pellet. Not enough to harm but enough for a distraction if needed. Alfred took a scraping from the note with gloves into a dish for sampling. It was better safe than sorry.

By the time they were finished, the girls were wrapping up with Joker. Bruce was informed they had dressed, shaped, cleaned, waxed, and did everything they needed to ensure Joker was the best dressed woman in Gotham. This was needed as it would not only cover Bruce if the paparazzi caught photos of them, but it would also piss Joker off.

That was something enjoyable Bruce could get from the evening.

Barbara was debriefing Bruce on having Tim and Cassandra on standby encase Joker pulled anything, and he needed rescuing, when Joker walked out.

Bruce was expecting a nicer version of what he saw in the car. Perhaps enough makeup to cover his masculine features, and a better wig. When he saw Joker, his first thought was whatever they were going to charge him for this transformation was too small of a price.

The second was, Joker was fucking _gorgeous_.

Bruce noticed was how green Joker’s eyes were now. The makeup was dark around his eyes, but lighter than before. It showed his eyes, and Bruce was drawn in as he continued to watch Joker inspect himself in the mirror.

Joker balanced on shallow heels like he was born to wear them as they helped define his newly waxed calves. Bruce’s breath was taken away as his eyes trailed up the beautiful calves to thighs barely covered in a glimmering sequence dress that hugged his curves. Unlike before where his thighs were lumpy from improper padding, everything now was smooth, rounded, full. His naturally slim waist was cinched and allowed his shoulders to stand out.

Bruce admired the exposed skin, wanting to run his hands over them. The shoulders curved into arms adorned with jewelry, pretty nail polish on Joker’s delicate looking fingers. Bruce’s eyes went up to the slim neck that bobbed slightly as Joker swallowed. Bruce felt the urge to kiss that neck.

   Bruce moved on instinct, wrapping an arm around Joker’s waist, and muttering his thoughts on how lovely Joker looked. In this situation, his date would usually giggle or make a remark. Joker didn’t do either. Bruce investigated the mirror and saw why.

Joker was having a panic attack.

Bruce had seen Joker have panics before, as sometimes the clown’s whole reason for dragging out hostages or setting up a bomb was in response to a panic attack. Bruce was used to dealing with Joker as Batman during those moments when he could push Joker to monologue on what was wrong, and usually resolve it quickly with a fight. But Bruce couldn’t do that here and only had his wits to figure it out.

He carefully watched Joker’s eyes, seeing their frantic movement, and the tension in Joker’s body as Bruce pulled closer. Bruce worked over the last few seconds and the situation and it hit him suddenly.

There was nothing of _the Joker_ left in what the women had done. No purple clothes, no bleach white skin, no wide Cheshire grin. He was a new person and that was enough to panic the man so obsessed with his looks.

Bruce had felt the same way the first time he was dressed up in a suit and makeup for a photoshoot. When a person loses so much, their sense of self is all they have. When that is gone, what else is there? And that is when the panic sets in.

Bruce only had a second to file this away before offering the only advise that ever worked for him.

“Find your eyes,” Bruce whispered in Joker’s ear, and nearly regretted it. Joker smelled as wonderful as he looked.

Bruce’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched Joker slowly calm down. Bruce kept his arm wrapped around the slighter man as protection for him, and for the women. Bruce’s eyes traveled to the pale neck, close enough that if Bruce moved just a few inches, he could kiss it.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Bruce whispered.

When Joker nodded, Bruce was relieved. And disappointed.

He made sure Joker got back to the limo and took care of the purchases. He needed some distance, to remember who was in that dress, smelling like a warm summer day.

“I must say, this may be our finest work,” Bridgette remarked.

“I agree,” Bruce responded without hesitation.

“Do you want us to keep her measurements on file?” Bridgette asked.

There was no reason to say yes. He didn’t plan on ever taking Joker back here for another shopping trip, or anywhere but Arkham. He couldn’t allow Joker to form a relationship with his Bruce persona, it was far too dangerous for everyone involved.

Bruce glanced out to the limo where Joker sat.

“Yes. Thank you, Bridgette,” he answered, and he could practically feel the judgement from Barbara on the ear piece.

“Our pleasure, Bruce,” she responded with a smile. “Would you like to change her items into a new purse for the evening?”

Bruce thought about the note, then Joker's earlier panic. Between the two, it would be best to keep something Joker felt familiar with. Bruce had already checked the lining for any hidden pockets.

Bruce declined her offer, gathering the clutch, and returning to the limo. Alfred had called ahead to reserve them a dinner spot that was strategically close to the GCPD and already planted Tim with Cassandra as guests. They each were placed at the exits, allowing Bruce to know the place was secure.

The ride to dinner was equal measures pleasurable, and daunting. Joker was enticing in looks and wit. Their banter back and forth on the merits of sushi was surprisingly refreshing. Bruce had to remind himself he was with Joker on more than one occasion.

Barbara chipping in his ear to keep him up to date on where Cassandra and Tim were doing, as well as getting the party together for the evening. Dick couldn't make it to the party to be cover, and they all knew better than to ask Jason. He would likely shoot Joker on sight which wouldn't end well for anyone. Barbara also ensured only the Bat Family was informed of the events, as Bruce wasn't sure if he could live with Clark finding out.

The teasing would be endless.

They arrived without incident to dinner and had a pleasant conversation while they waited for food. Bruce was relaxing almost against his will as he saw Joker practically inhale the food placed in front of him. For all the complaints about eating raw fish, Joker seemed on board with the idea now.

Joker made obscene noises as he ate, his moans luckily quiet enough not to travel further than their tucked away booth. Bruce was also glad that Tim and Cassandra couldn't see the faces Joker was making as he tucked away each piece of food put in front of him. Bruce had to shift in his seat at the display, and Bruce ordered another round.

He almost burned himself on the tea in a rush to cover up his smile as Joker's pleased sound.

“Normally this is the part in a date when we start to chat,” Bruce said, hoping to start up the Joker. He could only take those noises for so long.

“I hate small talk,” Joker answered between bites. “Blah blah, weather, blah, blah, boring stuff, blah blah, why’d you kill all those kids Joker _you monster_. It’s always so dull.”

Bruce paused. He heard Barbara frantically typing away on her keyboard on news of missing or recently murdered children. It wouldn't be out of the realm for Joker to have gone on a killing spree or to have shot a random child that annoyed him.

“What kids did you kill?” Bruce asked, his voice tight.

“None today,” Joker cheerfully answered, holding up a basic salute. “Scout’s honor!”

“If you’ve hurt someone this week—”

“What are you going to do about it?” Joker asked, his lips curling enough to show his teeth. “Cry into your money bags for comfort? Take a swing at me? Hire an assassin to take me out? I must warn you on that last one, as I hear finding someone to take the job is getting difficult these days. Luthor’s words, not mine.”

“No,” Bruce responded quickly. He wasn't a killer. Joker had oddly stopped that from happening, but it wasn't something he could bring up here. He would also have to investigate Lex closer if he was sending assassins after Joker. “I’d never kill someone, even someone like you.”

Bruce didn't enjoy having Joker's full attention. Joker leaned forward, his green eyes peering at Bruce, and the heat of them alone raised Bruce's hackles. Bruce could hear his heart hammering in his ears, almost drowning out Joker's assessment of him. The mention that Bruce only wasn't a killer because he couldn't stand dead bodies due to his parents hit closer to home than Bruce would ever admit. It made him want to punch Joker across his smug face, but that's not what Bruce Wayne would do.

It was also difficult to think of violence when Joker looked like a model with a wicked smile.

Bruce would have to fire back with words and that's what he did.

“You're scared of what will happen if you stop,” Bruce said with conviction.

There were rare instances in which Joker was properly angry. With all the ranting Joker did and his raging, it was more for show than anything. The years Bruce spent fighting Joker and observing his behavior taught him that. It also taught Bruce that when Joker became angry, truly angry, it was a thing to fear.

Joker was livid.

Bruce could feel the air become tense and knew Joker was a moment away from acting on whatever violent impulse was triggered. As Batman, he would be the first to react with violence to prevent whatever hit that was oncoming. As Bruce he only had words.

“Prove me wrong,” Bruce challenged in a hope that Joker's vanity would win out.

It was a good bet, as Joker’s arm relaxed, and the moment of violence passed. Bruce barely remembers the rest of the meal or Barbara's chiding in his ear about him taking risks, when his blood was pounding louder than all of it.

Bruce felt the thrill of a battle without the hurt and found it just as addicting.

When they returned to the limo, Joker was holding his stomach, and wobbling on his feet. Bruce centered him with a hand to the back, guiding him into the limo, and searching for any signs of poison by instinct alone. He worried someone recognized Joker and decided to take matters into their own hands.

Then, Joker announced his impending death at the hands of the waist trainer.

Bruce couldn't tell if he wanted to punch or kiss the man in relief. He chose the safer route of offering to help Joker out of the waist trainer.

It was a mistake.

Bruce was never great at controlling his urges in certain situations. The elegant back exposed to him that curved until it was under the dress, hiding the end from Bruce's view. For Bruce to remove the waist trainer he had to unzip the back, revealing the tempting flesh below, and watching it unfold Joker like a present.

Bruce had to fight himself not to let his fingers linger as they carefully removed the lace and freed the trainer. Bruce felt the warmth from Joker's skin as he carefully pulled the trainer through the dress and out the back without disturbing the padding. Bruce was hesitant to remove his hands from Joker, his reason for keeping them there now gone.

He tossed the trainer in frustration as Joker sunk into the seat. Joker only remained still for a few seconds, then abruptly sat up proclaiming they needed something cold to eat.

Bruce wasn't sure he could eat anything else, and his own worry was starting. Cassandra and Tim were on their way to the Pent House to stand guard. If Joker was leading them somewhere else, it would solely up to Bruce to keep the clown in check. Something he was confident in doing as Batman, but not as Bruce.

But when Joker kneeled on the seat facing Alfred, making the dress ride dangerously up his thighs, Bruce was distracted.

Bruce spent the ride to the ice cream place with his eyes on Joker's shapely body, then darting away when the guilt became too much to bare, only to return again. It was a slow torture for Bruce.

Bruce was never one to lie to himself. He had found the Joker attractive from the moment they met. Something around Joker, his personality, his charisma, his voice that could lull or frighten you in an instant, drew Bruce in like a moth to the flame. Like the insect, Bruce would at least suffer greatly if he chased his beacon.

Joker had passion to spare but lacked direction. His moods were often selfish, and his goals personally driven as far as Bruce could see. At least, they had been in the past. Joker's actions this week were proving to paint a different picture of the clown. One where many of Joker's actions were from a different place.

Harvey Dent was inconvenienced but left unharmed. Joker went to him for advice and made sure it didn't bite Harvey in the ass for it. That spoke of forward thinking. Whether that came from a place of concern for his friend or simply ensuring he had access to Harvey again when needed, Bruce didn't know.

Then there was the therapy group. Joker had a group of people at his mercy, scared, and unable to stop him. He could have killed any of them, but like with Harvey, he simply asked for advice. He left them with a real bomb, but it wasn't armed. They were never in any real danger from it.

Joker was looking for help. That was the biggest change Bruce had ever seen in the man. Joker had looked for assistance on a plan or a crime, but never personal advice. Something that could help him grow as a person. Bruce wanted this for Joker for years. For the clown to accept help and maybe become better.

He just never figured Batman would be the catalyst. Or Joker's perceived version of their relationship.

Bruce wasn't sure how to feel about that aspect. He had run from Joker's admissions of love in the past. It was easy to write it off as a mad man's obsession when Joker was made up to be a villain and murdering people.

Bruce's eyes drifted back to Joker's exposed thighs and swallowed.

It was harder to deny Joker when he looked like that.

Bruce only noticed they arrived at the place when Joker sprung out of the limo. In surprise, Bruce took a few moments to react.

“Did Joker just leap out of the car?” Bruce asked aloud, slightly amused.

“I believe he did sir,” Alfred responded. “Would you like me to make our escape?”

“No,” Bruce shook his head, already moving to follow. “We came all this way. Might as well try this dessert.”

“I shall anxiously await the review,” came the dry response and Bruce huffed a laugh.

The area was not the best. Several buildings were in various states of decay, trash littered the potted road, and the street lights were tilted. Bruce sadly knew the area well as the crime here was particularly hard on the youths. It didn't help that criminals liked to try to disappear in the abandoned buildings during chases putting the already hurting population in more danger.

Joker was a few steps ahead chatting with a friendly burly man in a van on cinderblocks. This was apparently the ice cream place Joker had made them drive out to.

Bruce was pleasantly surprised when his first impressions were proven wrong as the ice cream was delicious. The flavor was rich as though fine chocolate was ground into the cream when it was made, and it was thicker than the kind Bruce had in other places.

He remembered Alfred's remark and got him one as well.

Dale, the man who owned the van seemed far too sweet to be in Gotham. A simple man who insisted the billionaire not pay the modest fee for his ice cream because he was with a friend. Bruce slipped a hundred-dollar bill into the van when Dale wasn't looking.

It wasn't much, but Bruce had a feeling Dale wouldn't accept any more.

Joker's pleased expression at Bruce's charity made Bruce want to offer a business grant to Dale. Anything to keep that look in Joker's eye on Bruce. And Bruce hated himself for it.

They returned to the limo having a friendly chat on the ice cream and how Joker discovered Dale. Bruce felt like Joker punched him when he admitted the reason, he found Dale was because Batman punched him through a wall.

Bruce remembered that night. It was two months after Joker killed Jason's mother, and hurt Jason beyond repair. Bruce had been so angry at the clown, but he was also angry at himself for letting Joker get that far. He even shamefully debated on ending Joker's life during that time.

To be reminded of it wasn't the best, and left Bruce feeling ashamed of himself. The anger at Joker for his actions had long since washed away.

Bruce had calmed by the time they arrived at the Pent House. Joker and Bruce eyed the trainer, but Bruce told him he wasn't putting Joker back in it. Not only because it probably wouldn't fit now, but also because Bruce couldn't trust himself being that close to Joker.

Bruce was amused when Joker blew a kiss to the cameras, and the way Joker stayed close to him. The day had gone surprisingly well, and like a date. As long as Joker kept behaving, Bruce could continue to relax. Even the staff who buzzed around didn't annoy Bruce as he ordered them to bring in their packages to his bedroom. Joker pressed to Bruce's side, watching the crowds with mild interest.

They got on the elevator, alone again.

Then Joker pushed him against the wall, and Bruce had two urges. The first was the push Joker away. The second, was the kiss the man senseless. Bruce had such a strong contradiction of emotions, he ended up doing neither.

“We’ve gone shopping, had dinner and dessert,” Joker began, his fingers playing with Bruce’s silk tie. “Now, we’re going to a party. I wonder, what do we do after that?”

Bruce had the urge to tell him whatever they wanted to do, but that was far too giving. That was something coy to tell a date, to flirt a little. To Joker, that would be giving him enough rope to hang Bruce and everyone in the room.

“Depends on how the party goes,” Bruce answered, enjoying and dreading Joker being so close.

“What if it goes really well?” Joker questioned, batting his eye lashes. “What will I get in reward?”

There was a moment where Joker got closer, his lips more inches from Bruce, and the instinct to push the clown away almost overwhelmed Bruce. He couldn't give in to these feelings in the past when Joker was grinning from murdering innocent people, and he shouldn't give in now that Joker was dolled up, looking like the most enticing creature Bruce had ever seen.

Barbara gagging in his ear certainly didn't help.

Bruce fell back to what a playboy would say.

“If the party goes well, and no one is hurt or threatened,” Bruce began, and thinking of what he wanted after a long day, said, “I’ll let you use my personal shower.”

“A shower?” Joker questioned, releasing the tie in a huff. “That’s your best offer?”

Bruce couldn't contain the smirk even if he tried.

“You haven’t seen my shower.”

Joker perked up immediately, and they linked arms to join the mad house that was a Bruce Wayne party.

Bruce’s eyes swept the room quickly and he spotted Tim by the kitchen. Covering the back entrance was a good position and allowed him to see most of the room. Cassandra was harder to find, and Bruce had to wait until after the Zellerbachs were greeted until he finally saw her.

She was on the balcony, leaning on the rail, and watching the spots Tim couldn't see.

Bruce made sure his eyes didn't linger or pause on either of them. Joker was far too sharp to miss that. He was pleased to see they had changed clothes and were in different hair styles. It was nice to see they remembered his training from time to time.

Bruce turned to pay attention to the next guest who came up to them. A weasel of a man named Nelson with a date he clearly brought here to impress though she looked annoyed to be on his arm. Which was a sharp contrast to Bruce and Joker, as Joker pressed closer. Bruce could feel Joker shaking with silent laughter, and it made the tension in Bruce's chest ease.

He really was in trouble.

“Great party Bruce,” said the weasel, while his date stared at Bruce like he was fresh meat. Bruce felt the Joker tighten up next to him, which made Bruce's reply more clipped than wanted.

But the man took no notice of Bruce's tones, still trying to get Bruce to speak about business. Bruce wondered if he could excuse them soon when the man spoke to Joker directly.

“What's your name gorgeous?”

Bruce wanted to break Nelson's face for the leer he sent Joker. If Bruce had someone who wasn't Joker or perfectly capable of handling themselves against a slim ball like Nelson, Bruce might have spoken up. Or discreetly ruined their suit. Before Bruce could retort, Joker spoke up.

“Gorgeous, actually,” the tone would sound flirty to anyone who didn't know Joker. Bruce knew better.

“If I may say, the name certainly fits,” Nelson replied, oblivious. His date rolled her eyes. “How did you and Bruce meet?”

“On the corner of 5th and Park,” Joker answered with a deadpan expression. “Where you meet all your dates.”

That was Bruce's cue to move them along before Nelson understood the insult enough to become angry. Bruce should soothe things over, laugh it off as his date saying a crass joke at their expense but Bruce would rather escape from the situation entirely.

After all, he thought Joker’s insult was rather amusing.

He ushered them away from the angry couple and spotted Tim watching them with a delighted expression. Barbara must have patched the ear piece microphone to Tim and Cassandra. It made sense, but now Bruce knew everyone was listening in.

That would make Bruce's less than platonic remarks come to bite him later.

Bruce made their announcement that him and his date needed to change. The crowd cheered as usual. Playing a billionaire with a carefree lifestyle was second nature to him. It was a strain to hold the mask sometimes, especially when his two lives merged. He was looking forward to just being in his bedroom for a few minutes, even if Joker was joining him.

Bruce started to walk towards the room when he noticed Joker wasn't following immediately like he had been all day. Bruce watched his face as Joker's eyes seemed distant as though in deep thought, and his brow furrowed.

Bruce lightly tugged on their still linked arms, and Joker shook out of his pensive state, smiling at Bruce.

They went to the bedroom, dodging past stragglers who were scattered through the hallway, and Bruce let out a sigh of relief when he entered the private room. He had only a few seconds to enjoy the silence when he shut the door, trapping the sound, before Joker ran to the bed, flinging himself into the air, and diving in.

Bruce watched the display with a jolt of amusement at the child like enthusiasm. Bruce struggled to keep a smile off his face as he watched Joker snuggle further down into the comforter, his arms slightly waving as though making snow angels. Barbara’s voice whispering into the ear piece is what brought him back to the present.

“I don't have access to the cameras in there. If you need help Bruce, you'll have to alert us somehow.” Barbara said.

Bruce almost forgot he had Barbara in his ear. She had become silent for the last hour, which has allowed Bruce to concentrate on Joker. That wasn't necessarily a good thing seeing as how Bruce has learned he flirts back with the clown when given the opportunity. Which shouldn't be an option for him, especially with Barbara listening.

It was like being dipped into ice water at the reminder as he approached the bed. He pressed his fingers on Joker's back, making the man roll to see him. Bruce almost regretted it as the dress rode up higher, and Bruce had to concentrate to keep his eyes locked on Joker's smug face.

“I had the hotel staff put the other outfits in here for you to change into,” Bruce rumbled, nodding towards the white boxes. “Or, we can stay here instead of returning to the party. I’m sure no one would be surprised that we never returned.”

“Nice try,” Joker said, patting Bruce's cheek.

“Worth a shot,” Bruce responded, knowing the play was too obvious to work.

Joker pulled up his feet and put his feet on Bruce's thighs. Bruce tensed at the sudden contact, wondering if Joker was going to part his legs and make a rude comment.

“I don’t think I can bend in this dress. You’re on shoe removal duty,” Joker said, wiggling his toes.

Bruce resisted the urge to sigh though wasn't sure if it was for relief or disappointment. He quickly worked to undo the buckles of the shoes, releasing Joker's feet which were mildly pink under the pressure. He watched Joker rotate each foot as they were freed, causing them to brush uncomfortably high on Bruce's thigh.

He needed to get out before he did something he regretted.

Bruce shoved Joker's feet off and stood quickly, announcing he was going to get dressed, and escaped to his closet. Bruce stared at the closed door, the only thing separating him and Joker. His heart was throbbing in his throat and his fists clenched in barely restrained control.

Through the years Bruce learned he had an affectation for Joker. It was always there, starting with the spark of attraction when they first met, and building over the years. It's what made Bruce so determined to get Joker help, donating money to Arkham, and screening doctors for the mad man. He wanted Joker to get better, to have that sharp mind be on the right side, and to one day be able to hold him without feeling overwhelming guilt. Or worry that Joker may stab him.

There had never been a moment in which Bruce could indulge in these fantasies. Joker was always too dangerous, too unpredictable. It made it easy to deny everything he felt and bury it with enough conviction that no one ever questioned his obsession with Joker.

Now, Joker was being tame. Dressed up like a Gotham Socialite and dancing perfectly to the tune. Where his rough edges have softened, and Bruce found himself tempted more than ever. He wanted to follow his instincts on this, self control be damned.

“Bruce?” Barbara’s voice was like a punch to the gut.

He couldn't take the steps needed if Barbara was listening. He couldn't make her listen to that.

“I'm removing the ear piece for the rest of the evening,” Bruce said quietly as he picked out an outfit. Something to impress his date. “I think between all of us, and Alfred in the control room, we're covered.”

“Bruce, that's just too risky with him,” Barbara argued, and if it were any other night, Bruce would agree.

“We've risked enough tonight. He'll notice I've been wearing an ear piece with how flirty he's been. I'd rather not end up stabbed this evening,” Bruce answered as he pulled a newer suit from the back. It was a little tight, but Bruce wanted it to be.

“Alright,” Barbara said with a sigh. “You're right. I'll keep Cassie and Tim on stand by encase anything happens.”

“Thanks,” Bruce responded, taking the ear piece out, switching it off, and leaving it behind. He finished getting dressed, smoothing the jacket, and fixing the tie before emerging.

Bruce nearly swallowed his own tongue as he spied Joker twisting to inspect himself. Joker picked a champagne colored blouse, cut low to show off his torso, and fitted pants with a blazer. Bruce’s eyes stayed on the exposed skin carved out from the low cut and instantly was pulled to Joker, who's eyes roamed Bruce in a similar fashion.

If this were a real date, Bruce doubted they would made it back to the party. Not with Joker's pupils dilating, his breath making the hitching sound, and how Bruce could tell Joker was as turned on as Bruce.

Bruce worried about his control slipping as he wrapped an arm around Joker, for a second thinking about kissing those lips, before leading them back to the parry.

Bruce wanted to disappear. He never liked attending parties, and this one was even more grating than the others. Bruce was stuck between wanting to remove Joker from the guests to either capture him or kiss him and wanting to keep the man in the crowd, so he behaved. What ended up happening was Bruce allowed Joker to speak for them, which turned out to be a rather great idea.

Joker told the tale of how they met which obviously came from some terrible romance movie. Bruce hid his smile behind a glass as the guests would eat it up. What became more amusing was the fact that Joker changed his story each time he was asked to retell it. Bruce found Joker's pension for spinning tales to be useful for once.

It certainly made Bruce relax knowing the rumor mills were going to be so muddy that there was a very good chance no one would ever find out who Bruce actually brought to a party. Bruce made eye contact a few times with Tim, who was doing a decent impression of a drunk guest, and Cassandra who faked doing several selfies on the couch. Bruce nodded them when he decided to close the night.

They would go to the control room with Alfred to wait to see what happened.

When they retired back to the bedroom, Bruce was surprised to find out Joker had been slowly, and stealthily robbing the guests. Bruce had noticed a few movements of Joker palming items, but Bruce could never quite catch what the items were. He picked up Joker's discarded blazer and felt the heft to it.

Well, that was something Bruce would have to explain.

He didn't forget his promise that Joker could use the shower if he behaved. Joker didn't forget either as the man made a beeline for it the moment they walked back into the bedroom. Bruce smirked, seeing Joker pause in the doorway.

It was an impressive shower.

Joker shoved Bruce out and slammed the door. Bruce waited, stunned, and then the door opened. Joker dragged him inside and demanded he make the shower work. Bruce indulged Joker in showing him all the different scene settings and enjoyed the look of wonder on his face.

There were so few times Joker looked innocently pleased, Bruce wanted to foster the feelings as much as possible. When Joker stripped with Bruce still there, it took control not to stare and when Joker told Bruce to follow, Bruce hesitated.

There wasn't any excuse he could use to escape. The thought of leaving Joker alone in a room with a lot of medical supplies also wasn't an option.

Bruce stripped and joined Joker in the shower, keeping a safe distance from the clown. Bruce could feel the heat of Joker's gaze and when Joker wolf whistled at him, he glared back.

“Only human,” Joker sung back, returning to washing.

Bruce was surprised by how comfortable it was to shower in the same room as Joker. The clown didn't keep pestering Bruce, nor did he seem to pay attention to the other person in the room. Bruce watched Joker out the corner of his eye as the water turned multiple shades as the makeup washed away. When the darker coloring revealed itself, Bruce paused.

Joker was covered in bruises.

There was a wrapping ring of dark purple on his neck, fist shaped rings peppered his ribcage and torso, half moon clawed marks dug into his slight hips also painted in swatches of purples, blues, and sickly greens. When Joker turned his face, Bruce could see the swelling on his cheek, a red rose blossom dashed as though struck with force. The delicate wrists were bracelets with marks from being grabbed, and the rope Harvey tied him up with as well.

The man was a walking bruise and Bruce felt something squeeze in his chest.

He knew logically from chasing after Joker where the wounds came from. Waylon's large hands caused the hips to look like abused fruit, along with the bites along the neck, while Harvey the hits across the ribcage, and swelling in Joker's cheeks. Joker's feet, that Bruce felt so vindictive about them being hurt earlier this week, were concerning as they were bleeding.

Those were caused by the Arkham escape. Which Joker only did because of Batman… because of Bruce.

Bruce was already near Joker by the time he realized he stepped closer. He coaxed Joker out of the shower and treated his feet. Something Bruce felt responsible for even if he would never admit it aloud. He carefully worked to find each wound and bandage it. He was so focused on his work he forgot to keep his pressure steady.

Joker's sudden gasp, then fingers wrapping around Bruce's neck seemed to surprise them both.

Bruce fought his instincts to counter and held still. Joker's chest as heaving and his face was tight in pain. Bruce had seen Joker be pleasured, overjoyed, and rapturous in pain but never resistant towards it.

The rumors of Joker's skin being hypersensitive were true and Bruce wasn't sure what to do with that information.

Joker gave his warning and when Bruce accepted it, he felt Joker's hand run through his hair. Joker never apologizes for anything seriously. With Bruce's throat still burning from the grip, he swallowed heavy as the shivers ran up his back from Joker's gentle brushes through his hair.

It was an apology and Bruce also didn't know what to do with that.

They made it to the bed, Joker wrapped in a silk robe, and Bruce wearing sweatpants. Joker spread himself on the bed like a lazy cat, stretching, and grinning up at Bruce. Bruce felt his mouth dry at the sight.

“According to the rumors, all your dates make it to your bed,” Joker said, wiggling down into the soft comforter, the robe moving dangerously to the side.

“Which reminds me,” Bruce began sitting on the edge next to Joker, trying his best to ignore the sight. He stepped back into detective mode, as it was easier than being Bruce now. “Why did you want to spend the day with me? I didn't think I was even on your radar.”

“You weren't until yesterday,” Joker admitted, his voice soft. Bruce recalled the therapy session talking about offering Bruce's name as a date. “Though, I’ve always wanted to come to one of your parties and rob the place. Leave behind a few bodies maybe.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t,” Bruce said, then eyed the jacket with full pockets of stolen goods. Then clarified. “Leave bodies, that is.”

“Didn’t know I had it in me to behave?” Joker grinned, looking comfortable, and warm in the bed. “I just need the right motivation is all and a date with you was enough today.”

“I get the feeling all this,” Bruce began gesturing to the boxes, clothes, and themselves.  “Is because of something else. Something you’re not sharing with me.”

“Well, aren’t you a little perceptive thing,” Joker cooed, then let out a short laugh. “And what makes you think I should tell you anything, even if there is something else to tell?”

Bruce anticipated that. Joker never gives up his reasons for what he does easily, if ever. Appealing to the sense of power and control Joker wants was an easy thing to do. Bruce laid down next to the clown and made himself as vulnerable as his company.

“Because this is part of the date,” Bruce said.

“Are we pillow talking, Mr. Wayne?” Joker asked, amused, and flirty. Bruce had his heart in his throat.

“We took a shower together, and now we’re in bed. I think you can call me Bruce,” Bruce answered back with equal charm.

Joker made a quick series of expressions as he searched Bruce for any lies or tells. Bruce kept his face open, and honest through it all, waiting for whatever judgement Joker made. There wasn't any way to completely predict Joker and Bruce just hoped he played his cards right.

“Why don’t you start us off, Bruce?” Joker asked. “Tell me, why did you put up with me all day?”

“You were going to hurt people if I didn’t,” Bruce answered automatically.

“Oh, are you still using that excuse?” Joker asked, closing his eyes, and twiddling his thumbs on his stomach. “I guess that’s why you didn’t have your butler call the police to alert Batman or try to get away from me when I ran out of the limo to grab a shake? Right when you could have drove off, leaving me looking like a rich woman, practically catnip for the criminals of the Narrows, defenseless. I doubt I would have made it past the block before someone had a go at me.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. He could tell Joker wouldn't buy any excuse he had to offer so he didn't provide any. Bruce wouldn't leave Joker on a street in a dangerous area looking like he was. The crooks and criminals of the street would have tried to hurt Joker. Which would result in either Joker actually being injured or a bunch of dead bodies in the narrows.

Neither Bruce wanted. Nor did he want his night to end. That was the truth Joker wanted, and Bruce struggled to comply.

“In the beginning, it was to protect people, and maybe punish you for threatening to harm them,” Bruce said softly. Joker opened his eyes, watching Bruce's effort. “I wanted to see how far your ruse would go. I thought for sure at the shops you would give, but you didn’t. You kept your word, and it made me want to keep mine.”

Bruce paused.

“Go on,” Joker encouraged, his lips twisting into a smile. “I know there’s more.”

“Your turn,” Bruce countered, fighting not to shift under the intense stare. “I’ll say the rest after you answer why you wanted to spend the day with me.”

“Go on a _date_ with you,” Joker corrected with a shrug. “I’ve been doing some soul searching this week. Trying something new.”

“And you landed on having a date with me?”

“Who better to learn how to date than a serial dater like you?” Joker responded with a giggle, and Bruce mocked a pout which seemed to delight Joker. “I’ve been stuck, seeing the same person for years. The relationship is great, don’t get me wrong. There’s still more than enough passion to go around, and I _love_ our routine but… lately, it feels like he only does it because he must, not because he _wants_ to. We need a spark, something to light that flame again! I hear a little jealousy goes a long way to kindling old feelings.”

“He?” Bruce questioned, already dreading the answer. It always came down to Joker's obsession with Batman. He also had to remember that billionaire Bruce Wayne wouldn't know Harley's name or Joker's love of Batman. “I thought you had a girlfriend. That clown girl.”

“ _Harley_?” Joker grinned. “Oh, her and I are playmates. She is like an apprentice. Lots of potential that one, but she’s not my partner. My _soul-mate_. Only Batman fills those shoes.” Then added with only a slight bitterness, “Besides, Harley and Ivy tied the knot last week in Vegas, _without me_ mind you.”

Bruce's mind reeled. He always knew Harley was seen more as a side kick but hearing it from the clown's own mouth was shocking. He also had a hard time hearing how much Joker cared about Batman, calling them partners. Soul mates.

And he was trying to make Batman jealous. By dating Bruce. There was never a time in Bruce’s life when he was prouder of his poker face than this moment.

“In your mind, you and Batman are in a long-term relationship and you’re cheating on Batman… _with me_ … because you think he’s not into you as much anymore?” Bruce said slowly to make sure he understood correctly and didn't give himself away.

“Give a gold star to the billionaire!” Joker exclaimed, then ran a hand through Bruce’s hair, gripping it tightly enough that Bruce winced. “And what’s with this, _in your mind_ , bullshit? Just because you don’t understand it like everyone else in this city, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“From the news it seems Batman is still pretty obsessed with you,” Bruce said, not telling Joker to stop his pull on his hair. He needed the pain to concentrate and keep him focused. It also stopped him from grabbing Joker's face and telling him Batman never forgets him. How could he? “He comes after you before any other villain.”

“He does,” Joker hissed, pulling Bruce close enough to see the flecks of yellow in his eyes. “Unless _Catwoman_ is in town. Then he disappears! _FOR DAYS_! Tell me you don’t see what is going on here, you’ve been clever so far. If your significant other suddenly does a no-show on date night when another woman is in town, what does that mean?”

Bruce felt the fight was punched out of him. Selina had told him much the same on Sunday when the dinner fell apart, but she believed Bruce obsessed with Joker, not her. Now, Joker is expressing the same dismay at Batman's attention to Selina.

If only one of them had the opinion of feeling like the third wheel, Bruce could brush it off. Confronted with both having the same emotions, the same hurt and anger reflected in their eyes, was more than Bruce could bear.

Before Bruce could respond, Joker continued his rant.

Joker suddenly released Bruce and fisted his own hair in utter frustration.

“I plan my whole life around Batman! I make sure every time I show up, there’s a _good reason_ for him to bring his best. I challenge him, make him better. He _needs_ someone to make it hard, or else he goes _insane with paranoia_ , and I know this! I _plan_ on it. I make sure he feels his loses, and his wins are never without cost. I give him purpose, something no one else does, and how does he _thank me_?! He disappears at the first hint of a _MEOW_!”

Bruce was angry. At himself for not seeing how far Joker's version of their relationship had steered much of the clown's actions. At Joker for acting out when Batman didn't pay enough attention to him. That Joker saw it as a game. That people died because Bruce didn't see it.

That Joker truly believed he was helping Batman by doing his twisted games.

“You kill people, _torture them_ , because you think you’re doing Batman a _favor_?” Bruce asked in a surprisingly calm voice, but it was laced with danger. He watched as Joker's eye dilated in arousal and Bruce hated that his own body started to respond in kind.

“Not a favor. He _hates_ it. The death, the murder. But it motivates him like nothing else,” Joker answered, his voice was breathless.

“Why? Why do you do it?” Bruce asked, not wondering this for the first time.

“Because he’d be _dead_ otherwise,” Joker said, licking his lips as his gaze lingered on Bruce's. Bruce fought the urge to pull the clown in. To ask him exactly what he meant. “I’ve held up my end, now it’s yours. Tell me Bruce, why did you follow me out of the limo?”

Bruce’s grip on his hand loosened, and he wanted to pull back. To give himself distance from the clown as the heat and intensity of their conversation was reminding him of their fights. Of their body clashing and the rush of adrenaline only Joker gave him mixed with the growing heat in his groin at Joker's wanton expression.

“Bruce, please,” Joker begged, and Bruce felt the last shred of his control slip.

“Despite who you are, and how much I loathe what you do to others, I wanted to get to know you,” Bruce answered, his voice deep, and quiet. His eyes were on Joker’s and left no doubt the meaning of his next words. “I was surprised by you all day. And by myself. With how much I’ve wanted to touch you. Wanted to be with you. Even now, I just want to strip off your robe, and touch every inch of you until there isn’t any part of you I don’t know.”

“You don't have to ask a girl twice,” Joker replied his fingers eagerly reaching for Bruce and Bruce was lost.

He pulled the robe open to see all of Joker who was flushed with desire. Bruce could hardly pause long enough to ensure Joker's sensitivity was taken into consideration when he moved between Joker's legs and devoured him.

Bruce watched as Joker’s face flushed, his eyes lost focus, and moaned his name as he came hard into Bruce’s mouth. Joker’s legs wrapped around his chest, squeezing at the same time of his release, and quivered under Bruce’s body. Bruce swallowed it all.

Bruce wanted to say this was a burden, that pleasing this murdering sociopath was one of the worst experiences of his life, and he was ashamed of having to do it. He wanted it so badly, but it would have been a lie, and Bruce was not in the habit of lying. He could be brutally honest with everyone, even more so with himself.

He enjoyed the rush of power this gave him, and something in his chest loosened when Joker stared star-eyed at him. He stroked Joker’s sides, feeling the ribs below his fingertips.

“Do you treat all your partners like this?” Joker mumbled, voice slurred, and with a soft smile Bruce didn’t know he could give. Bruce fought to control his expression, his heart slowly picking up speed.

“No,” he said, and meant it. He could close his eyes, relax with other partners. Bruce couldn’t bring himself to look away from the Joker, and his cock was responding to Joker’s enthusiastic reaction to Bruce’s every touch.

Joker threw his head back to laugh.

He had never seen Joker be self-conscious, especially about his laugh. The clown’s high pitched, manic laughter was his signature, a thing that sent shivers of terror down most people’s spines. Even Bruce had felt the power of that laugh when directed his way. It always meant something bad was about to happen. But, not this time.

Joker’s laugh was full of snorting, lower in his throat, and his whole body shook with it. Bruce pulled back, watching Joker twist his way onto his stomach, and smiled. Joker was losing it to whatever was in his mind, and Bruce could see the tension in Joker’s back from here. He could also see the welts on Joker’s ass and thighs from Harvey. The word couldn’t be made out anymore, but Bruce knew what it was.

He could see the bruising that wrapped around Joker’s hips, a large hand, Bruce could tell now. It could only be Croc’s, he was the only one in contact with Joker recently and was big enough to do that. The bruising and welts stuck out against Joker’s pale skin, making the man appear far more fragile than he was. It was a dangerous thought to have, Bruce knew, but he couldn’t help it.

He felt the urge to take care of the man.

Bruce decided what to do, getting up from the bed and fetching massage oil. It would sooth Bruce’s own need to take care of Joker and with luck, put Joker to sleep. Joker was still cackling in bed when Bruce returned, his hands already covered in the oils.

He placed himself on Joker’s thighs just below the welts and pressed into Joker’s tense back. He remembered Joker’s sensitive skin, and resisted doing anything light, instead pushing weigh into Joker. He worked over the back, finding knots everywhere.

The task was easy, as Bruce spent a year learning how to massage knowing he would need it in his healing process as Batman, and kept Bruce focused. It was difficult to think of Joker’s expression when he came when he focused on his hands. His fingers traced the whipcord muscles in Joker’s back, bulky enough to be distinct from each other, but still hiding all the strength the man possessed.

Bruce had fought a wide variety of people as Batman. Bane may have broken his back, but Joker still demanded the most attention during a fight. He was notoriously quick, and creative. He packed a mean punch that would knock most people off their feet and had caused Bruce to stumble many times.

Bruce finished loosening another knot in Joker’s back when he heard a mumble. Joker’s voice was soft, slurred, and his eyes were closed in relaxation. Bruce couldn’t catch the words, but based on context, he could tell it was praise. Bruce hummed, acknowledging, then moved on to the next knot on Joker’s lower back.

As he got closer to Joker’s ass, he became more aware of it. His eyes wandered over the rest of Joker’s back, trying to divert from going lower, but he looked at Joker’s face.

Joker was the picture of contentment. His mouth was ajar, face slack, and eyes closed. Bruce had never seen him so relaxed before.

Then Joker let out a giggle, turned his face into the mattress, and continued.

Bruce knew that feeling building in him. He’s only felt it was few times in his life. The most recent was with Selina. A surge of protection, of wanting to please the person in front of him, and a painful ache to just be near to them. Bruce recognized his own loneliness, and knew these feelings were a reaction to that, that they could attach to the wrong people simply because Bruce needed more human interaction.

He just never thought they would attach to Joker.

He watched as Joker’s hip rotated ever so slightly against the bed. Bruce could tell Joker was hard again from the massage, as it was a common side effect. He also found himself wanting to please Joker again. Joker’s responses to Bruce’s touches were intoxicating. Before Bruce was aware of his hands moving, he felt Joker’s ass, and squeezed. Joker’s moan sent a bolt of arousal though Bruce so quickly he was dizzy with it.

It was time for a decision on Bruce’s part. He could either flip Joker over to blow him again, something less impersonal, or he could fully commit, possibly getting emotionally destroyed.

When Joker pushed back on his hands making a whining sound so utterly submissive to Bruce, his decision was made. He wanted Joker for years, and every bit of his resistance fell to that sound.

Bruce’s first taste of Joker started a fire of want in him. There was a burst of pure adrenaline across his body as his tongue slipped into Joker’s body. He loved going down on his partners, having them quake beneath him, but this was different. Even with Selina who could hold her own in a fight, she didn’t bring as much of a thrill as Joker.

Joker was unchained, raw passion. He threw himself with the power of dynamite behind every decision he made. He was unpredictable, chaotic, dangerous, and beyond control. No one can stop him without giving up a piece of themselves. Joker was a force of nature, and Bruce felt his heart pound against his chest at the knowledge he was making this man quiver below him.

“I didn’t know you were this good,” Joker’s voice sounded wrecked. Bruce wanted to purr in pleasure at it, knowing he was causing it, when Joker continued. “You’ve done it now Wayne. Mind’s made up. I’m never leaving your bed.”

The imagery conjured by those words made Bruce’s dominant side rear up. He shoved Joker, who had gotten up to push against Bruce’s tongue, down onto the bed. Bruce wanted to cover him, to pleasure him so well that he was a babbling mess.

And that is what Bruce did.

After preparing Joker for sex, Bruce turned Joker on his side, moving a leg up to get in easier, and pushed in. Bruce felt the heat of Joker surround his cock and how incredibly tight the man was. He was glad he chose to forgo the condom, even though it could appear suspicious that Bruce Wayne, playboy, didn’t think to use one. Bruce knew Joker’s medical records by heart, and the man’s unique biology. He was safe from catching anything.

Joker wrapped his arms back and around Bruce, his hands tangling in Bruce’s hair. Bruce bottomed out in Joker just as Joker’s hands tugged on his hair, making Bruce gasp.

“ _Bruce_ ,” Joker panted, his expression was a complete wreck. Bruce wanted to devour him, and he got as close as he could, bringing their mouths together.

Joker’s lips were soft, and pliant under him, just like Joker’s body. Bruce slid his tongue into Joker’s mouth, tasting the mint toothpaste, and something else. Something that Bruce suspected was Joker’s taste, and Bruce chased after it, wanting more. Addicted on his first try.

He wanted to touch Joker everywhere, to make him moan, to make him sing. His fingers went to Joker’s nipple, rolling it under his fingers, as Bruce aimed his thrust to his Joker’s prostate. The surge of power radiated in Bruce’s chest when Joker quivered in his arms. He knew at this moment, he could ask anything of Joker, and Joker would do it. Bruce had possibly the greatest villain, capable of bringing anyone in the world down to their knees, in his arms, writhing, and moaning his name like a pray.

Bruce knew he owned Joker.

The thought oddly made it easier to resist being dominate. Bruce didn’t have to prove his power over Joker, it just was. And that satisfied Bruce in a way he couldn’t describe. It made him want to keep Joker.

That thought was the most dangerous yet, but Bruce couldn’t pretend it wasn’t true. He _ached_ with it.

Bruce watched Joker, feeling where the tension was building, when he would stiffen from a well-aimed thrust, and focused on doing it again. Joker was warm in his hands, keening, and responsive. Joker also talked a lot during sex, and Bruce adored it more than he would ever admit.

It was like listening to a stream of conscious and made Bruce far more aroused than was appropriate. Between the _gods_ , and _fucks_ , and best of all, _Bruces_ , Joker would talk about what Bruce was doing.

“ _Fuck_ your cock is perfect,” Joker said amongst his heated moaning, and Bruce thrusted into him with a rotation of his hips. Joker’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body strummed tight with the sensation, and gooseflesh raising on his arms. Bruce kissed at his neck, tasting the sweat gathering there, loving the reaction.

“ _Bruce_ , your hands… I love being held by them. You’re so fucking _strong_ ,” Joker babbled, and Bruce gripped Joker’s hip, kneading the flesh between his fingers, then drifting up to stroke Joker’s ribs. He pulled Joker closer, and Joker let out a rumble in his chest that warmed Bruce’s.

Bruce watched it all and listened to Joker’s words. His own pleasure being held back by the want to see Joker cum again. Bruce felt a yearning for Joker that had begun building in the shop when he came out of the dressing room and overwhelmed Bruce quickly through their day together. Now, with Joker writhing in pleasure under him, saying his name over, and over again, the possessive nature in Bruce was purring in satisfaction.

When Joker asked him to touch him, Bruce gladly did.

It was _glorious_.

Bruce stroked him through an orgasm. His cock throbbing in time with his release as Bruce remained still inside him, fighting to urge to cum with Joker. He wanted to watch every second of Joker's body arching, hear his breathless moans, and feel the strength behind it by the twisting hand in his hair. Bruce kissed Joker's temple as the last few twitches gave way, and Bruce was forced to stop by Joker's hand.

Joker was a type of happy Bruce had never seen before. It was soft, and affectionate. When he said he never had three orgasms before in a single night, Bruce almost pounced on him. Bruce loved being given a goal especially when it meant Joker would stay under him.

Stay safe, where Bruce could prevent him from being abused, and hurt.

It wasn’t long until they started again, Bruce changing positions twice, and finding himself covering Joker completely with his body. Joker’s legs were around his waist, buried in his enemy, and he had never been happier. His face was being held by Joker’s hands, so Joker could watch him as he fucked him.

It took all of Bruce’s self-control not to look away.

Bruce had faced Joker many times over the years, and it never ceased to amaze him how quickly Joker picked up on things. It could be the smallest mistakes, the tiniest moment, and Joker would spot it. Even with all of Bruce’s training, years of disciple by masters of multiple arts, Bruce struggled with to be as alert as Joker. All it would take is the fraction of a second for Bruce to slip, for Joker to take advantage.

It shouldn’t have sent a shot of thrill down Bruce’s spine, but it did.

Joker’s eyes were unfocused, blown out iris from pleasure, and his mouth couldn’t close. He looked completely fucked out, with lips swollen from Bruce’s kissing, cheeks dotted with red, and his hair, god his hair was an absolute _mess_. He was so fiery and yielding around Bruce’s cock, tightening every time Bruce hit his prostate, which Bruce did often.

Bruce tried to keep eye contact the whole time, to will his face to remain calm, but Joker was ruining him. Joker looked at him like he hung the stars, as though he were his whole world, and Bruce couldn’t pretend it wasn’t affecting him. He wanted to hold Joker, to make love to him again, and again, even though he wasn’t even finished with _this_ time.

Bruce almost stopped.

He felt dread wash over him as he realized he was _in love_ with Joker. It should have been a surprise, but disbelief didn’t follow it. Acceptance did, and Bruce filed it away quickly before any of it was given away on his face. Batman couldn’t love, but Bruce could, and all it took was getting Joker under him once.

Joker, who was breathless, holding him so close like Bruce was everything, and Bruce found himself slipping. It was so easy to believe Joker loved him back, and Bruce wanted it. God help him, he _did_.

His orgasm was building to a peak, and Bruce couldn’t keep himself together a moment longer. His world narrowed to Joker’s face, who looked like he was the one breaking.

“Joker, _Joker_!” Bruce repeated, as the pleasure in his core swelled, making his toes curl against it, wanting to hold onto something, as came as deep inside Joker as he could get.

He was pulled into Joker’s arms, and began kissing Joker’s neck, mindful of the bruises. He wanted to heal them, make Joker whole, and healthy. He wanted to care for the man.

Bruce hated how loved he felt in those arms. He still wrapped his own around Joker, holding him back, and trying to pretend they were simply two men. Two men who hadn’t scarred one another, who hadn’t beaten each other near to death, but who loved each other deeply. That Joker hadn’t damaged him so profoundly time could not heal the wounds.

But Bruce could never lie to himself.

He could act though on the temptation of watching Joker come undone under him. It would be some time before Bruce could get hard again, but he liked the idea of bringing Joker off with his hand, watching cum paint his abs. When he held Joker’s half-hard cock, he watched as Joker’s mouth fell open at the touch.

The possessiveness in Bruce roared back, and Bruce once again covered Joker with his own body. He tasted every inch of Joker’s mouth, his hand stroking Joker to hardness, then to orgasm as Bruce only let up on Joker when Joker was too blissed out to react.

Bruce knew he should move to lay beside Joker, but he didn’t.  The tenderness towards Joker was almost overwhelming Bruce.

He knew it was foolish to think a single day could change someone like Joker. A trauma, even Bruce’s, took days to settle, then a pattern to emerge from it. Nothing happened over night, that was true of things that stuck with you forever. But a single day could change someone’s course.

Bruce hoped this was the case, and the swelling of adoration in his chest for Joker increased when he felt the man’s eyes on him.

Joker frowned, his hand reaching up to brush Bruce’s lips. Bruce wanted to kiss him, to keep his arms around Joker and demand they talk about this, but Bruce stopped when he saw the pull of Joker’s lips, the sudden shudder to his breath.

Joker started crying while watching Bruce’s face.

It happened slowly, and Joker didn’t make a sound as the tears fell. It was obvious that Joker hadn’t realized he was crying and was staring at Bruce as though Bruce was breaking his heart.

“Joker?” Bruce questioned.

Joker made a valiant effort to smile. It hurt. “Yes darling?”

“Why are you crying?”

Joker froze.

Bruce watched as Joker’s eyes unfocused, and he began to quietly shake. Bruce’s first instinct was to back away, give Joker room to breathe, and assess to see if there was damage Bruce wasn’t aware of. A sore bruise he wasn’t mindful of, or had the sex brought up personal trauma for Joker?

Bruce pushed himself up by a few inches, already disliking the cool air moving between them.

“Joker?” Bruce questioned softly, as he brought up his hand to cup the side of Joker’s face. His touch brought Joker back from his panics today, and Bruce hoped it would again.

He hoped it wasn’t him that cause Joker’s panic now.

Joker’s hand moved like a flash, grabbing Bruce with a strength usually reserved for their fights. Joker’s eyes narrowed, but the pupils were still wide, and his body still shaking.

“Getting fresh again, Mr. Wayne?” Joker’s voice quivered as he spoke, and Bruce wanted to gather him up even as the impersonal address hurt.

Bruce knew this was a response to something Joker was feeling. He knew intellectually Joker was triggered by certain events, and would go on violent sprees, disregarding his own safety. This was a known behavior, and something Bruce had studied late into the night more times than he could count.

But that didn’t stop his sharp ache in his ribs.

“What is wrong?” Bruce asked, voice calm, and he slowly backed up refusing to rip his hand from Joker’s grasp. “Let’s slow down and talk.”

“Oh, there’s plenty wrong sweetheart,” Joker said with an even voice, a pitiless smile curling on his lips. “I’m the Joker dear. Something you seemed to have forgotten. I’m sure I could make you a list with everything wrong with me. Hell, I’m sure there’s books on the subject to. Ever try reading any of them? Droll, though not _entirely_ inaccurate. I especially love the ones that assume I was beaten as a child which made me the monster I am today. Makes excellent material for when new doctors try poking around to see what makes me tick. Tragedy always lends itself to the best comedy in my opinion.”

Bruce fought to keep his face calm. He would have to ride out whatever mood Joker was in, and Bruce was willing. He just needed to figure out what triggered Joker, and work backwards from there. The problem was, he couldn’t do that by himself. He needed a starting point. Just a hint.

And he pleaded for it.

Then Joker struck him, knocking him off the bed, and Bruce reacted on instinct, pulling Joker right off with him. Bruce was in shock, not from being hit as it had come as a sad almost daily occurrence for him, but from Joker’s lack of real fight.

He had fought Joker many times. Joker was vicious, alarmingly quick, and played dirty. Joker’s moves now were panic driven struggles, uncoordinated, and easily countered. It made pinning him to the floor hurt all the worse for it.

Bruce was caught off guard by the bite to his arm, quickly rushing to release Joker’s teeth from his skin. Joker had bitten off ears, and noses, chunks of flesh from guards in Arkham. Bruce had seen the pictures. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heart pounding in his ears, focused on the damage down to his wrist, without worrying about Joker’s twisting body until he heard the echoing sound of glass breaking, then a sharp point held to his throat.

There was only one thing in his room made of glass, and Bruce’s chest constricted in a wash of grief. He knew his parents’ photo was harmed. There was no way it escaped that, and it made Bruce see red as he stared up at Joker’s sweaty form as he straddled Bruce’s hips, cackling as he did.

“You promised not to hurt anyone,” Bruce said through gritted teeth.

“And I didn’t,” Joker said with a malicious grin. “I believe it’s after midnight, which makes it the next day. New rules, Brucey-Wucey! I get to play how I want to now and I think playing surgeon sounds like good fun. What do you think of that, pretty boy?”

Bruce clenched his fists. He had a thought of punching Joker off him, but that idea instantly died on arrival. Bruce didn’t want to hurt Joker. The last thing he wanted right now was to harm someone and let that be a memory of this night.

The night that had gone so well. The night that Bruce allowed himself to lose control for a few minutes and did something reckless. He took a chance on Joker. He could still taste Joker in his mouth, his body still warm from laying on Joker, and his fingers tingled, wanting to touch Joker’s delicate, bruised hips.

Bruce was disappointed in Joker’s reaction, but he was disappointed in himself more. For not seeing it. For not anticipating this. For not preventing it.

He watched as Joker’s grin fell slowly, and his wild eyes went to Bruce’s neck where Bruce could now feel blood. It was odd because his neck lacked the sharp sting of a cut.

Joker’s hand ripped away from him as though burned, his eyes looking at his hand as though it betrayed him, and then back at Bruce.

Bruce swallowed. He couldn’t give in to his instincts to tell Joker it was alright. That he was fine. Not when Joker was holding a blood smeared, torn photo of his parents. Because this wasn’t alright. This wasn’t fine. And Bruce couldn’t pretend that it was.

“You’re not fun anymore,” Joker’s voice was quiet as he tossed the photo and frame behind him. He rose from Bruce as though in a trance and dressed.

Bruce rolled to check on the photo Joker had tossed. He picked up the torn, crumpled, and blood-stained photograph. His hands shook as he wondered if he had another. If Alfred could save it. Could Bruce save it?

Bruce felt cold anger wash over him as he held the torn pieces of his smiling parents. They would be disappointed in him. For allowing himself to forget his control. Bruce felt his emotions seal away, the same as they did when he put on the Batsuit. He couldn't afford them right now.

Bruce looked up just as Joker turned. He watched as Joker flinched away from him and left, leaving Bruce to the dark bedroom, alone.

Alfred found him standing with the picture, shaking, and naked. Without a word, Alfred pulled him into a hug, and it took the wind out of Bruce. He buried his nose into Alfred’s neck, and held on.

“I’ve got you Master Bruce,” Alfred said, and Bruce knew it was true.

“I have to find him,” Bruce said, though he didn't release his hold.

“You do,” Alfred agreed. “But not right this moment.”

They stayed still for several long seconds while Bruce gained control of his breathing, and Alfred’s warmth curled around Bruce like a blanket. When Bruce pulled away, he felt settled, and handed the torn picture to Alfred. They stared down at the picture.

“I'll see what I can do,” Alfred said, holding the paper as though it were a valuable work of art. It was, to them.

“Thank you,” was all Bruce could say as he turned to get dressed. He only needed something to cover himself for the sake of Tim and Cassie who would be in the control room where Bruce's suit is. He also hesitantly picked up the ear piece.

He never should have taken it out. He wouldn't have lost control if Barbara was there. He would have seen the warning signs and not dismissed the look in Joker's eyes. The way Joker looked as though being torn. He wouldn't feel like he just took advantage of a mentally ill man who had a break down after sex.

Bruce griped the piece nearly shattering it.

He misread the signs. With Harvey's talk of Joker being a submissive, and Waylon's mention of Joker in the sewers, Bruce hadn't paused to consider if Joker wanted any of it. If he can provide consent. If he was traumatized by past sexual encounters.

Bruce had to swallow bile and guilt. He felt dirty.

As quickly as the thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, another rose to the top. Joker was a fully capable fighter and very outspoken. Through the whole day he expressed each moment of displeasure. Joker would have spoken up if he was uncomfortable. He wouldn’t allow someone to take advantage of him.

Right?

The Batsuit was never as confining as it was tonight. Not with the wash of guilt hanging over Bruce's head on how he dealt with Joker. The suit deserved a better man to wear it tonight.

It was stuck with Bruce and Bruce was determined to make it work. To pretend he wanted to find Joker.

“No sign of the clown on park,” Tim's voice came through the piece. “If he headed this way, he certainly covered his tracks. Found a robbery though so not all is lost.”

“When you're finished, circle back to the patrol to the north,” Bruce responded. “I'm taking the west.”

“Copy,” Tim answered then went silent to handle the robbery.

Bruce knew he didn't have to worry about Tim. Tim was a capable fighter, and even more than that, he was a fantastic strategist. That didn't stop Bruce from flinching when he heard the gunshots over the coms, or the cold sweat dripping down his neck that wouldn't cease until Tim gave the all clear.

Bruce retraced his steps, having failed to pick up the drops of blood Joker left as a trail the first time. Bruce followed the specks until they ceased two blocks away from the Pent House. That's when Bruce took to the rooftops and tried to figure out where Joker was heading.

There weren't any hideouts of Joker's that Bruce was aware of. He also knew Joker didn't have any shoes on. Just the bandages Bruce had wrapped his feet in. He shouldn't have gotten far, but he did.

His feet would be freezing.

Bruce closed his eyes and took a steady breath before continuing his search.

They spent an hour on a futile search as Joker had disappeared into the city. Bruce called it quits making Tim question him on how fast they had given up. Bruce refused to answer, instead returning to the manor where he could shower, and sleep away from the memory of Joker.

“What shall I do with the items… your guest, left behind?” Alfred questioned.

Bruce paused. His first instinct was to throw it all away. It is what Bruce should say and alleviate the suspensions of his family that hung like a fog. Instead, a flash of Joker's form in those clothes appeared, his lost expression being washed away by the clutch of his familiar purse.

“Box them,” Bruce answered. “I'm sure I have room in the closet.”

“I shall see it done,” Alfred responded quickly. He wasn't going to judge Bruce for his choice. “Have a good night, Master Bruce.”

“Good night Alfred,” Bruce hung up and readied himself for bed.

The manor was quiet that night even if Bruce's mind wasn't.

Bruce can barely remember his day at work. He was late to two of his meetings, forgot to contact Fox on the Luthor contracts, and had to dodge calls from his family. He didn't have the strength to deal with any of the emotional baggage today, and he certainly wasn't going to be forced to expose it. This was his burden to bare, not theirs.

The worst was seeing all the news articles about Bruce's date yesterday. Him and Joker linked by their arms as they walked past a group of paparazzi. They caught a good angle on Joker, his green hair reflecting all the light. It almost made it look like he had a halo. And his wide, red smile.

How did no one figure it out?

Bruce closed the articles and turned off his news alerts for the day. He needed some peace. He licked his lips, almost disappointed he couldn’t still taste Joker there.

Alfred was as steadfast as ever. Bruce noticed the calls stopped near the afternoon before Alfred came to pick him up. They rode in silence back to the manor and Bruce retired to his study. He was determined to look every part of Luthor's contract over before his meeting the next day. There was only so many things Bruce could dodge before the burden of responsibility weighed him down.

Bruce was half way through the stock purchase options when Alfred came in.

“Sir,” Alfred began hesitating. Bruce looked up. “I know you are rather busy, but I believe you would like to see this.”

Bruce put down his work and watched as Alfred pulled out a tablet. He paused a moment as though nervous before placing the screen facing Bruce. Bruce frowned at his mentor then looked to see what was so important.

The screen showed a social media account of Roxanne Sutton also known as Roxy Rocket. A woman with a fast lifestyle and addiction to adrenaline that got her on the wrong side of the law a few times. Bruce had to bring her in twice before, but she settled down into a therapy group a few years ago and hadn't caused any illegal trouble since.

Bruce could see a video available to watch and glanced at Alfred.

“I do warn you to prepare your ears,” Alfred said.

“Consider them warned,” Bruce responded, then tapped play.

What greeted him was nothing he could have ever expected. There was a dingy bar with neon signs of the different beers available, and a shoddy stage. Roxy was smiling into the camera with a view over her shoulder of the stage where there were two figures. One was Dennis Prowell, better known as Music Meister, with a mic in his hand singing with an arm slung around someone. Around the Joker.

Bruce's eyes zeroed in on Joker as the man swayed to the music and sang terribly off key to a love song. Even from a phone video Bruce could see Joker was unfocused, unbalanced, and appeared to be drugged. Or drunk. Very, _very_ drunk.

“What in the world…” Bruce muttered as the short clip came to an end. He scrolled through Roxy's account seeing numerous videos, photos, and tagged accounts of Joker apparently partying with Roxy and her friends.

“Count me as surprised as well,” Alfred responded as Bruce watched another video of Joker doing shots with Mary. “All these years he's never shown a want to drink let alone to excess nor to party like a student on spring holiday. This seems most out of character; don’t you think so?”

Bruce hummed, agreeing. He took in the time stamps and noticed Roxy didn't have her location turned on. At least she thought of that. She also took care not to take photos where the bar's name could be seen.

Which was fortunate since Roxy's fanbase tripled since the first photo of her and Joker where Roxy cheerfully tagged it as ‘having a laugh of a time with a new friend!’. Bruce stared at the photo where Roxy was clearly leaning on Joker's shoulder, and Joker was grinning at the camera.

“Over ten thousand views in the last hour,” Alfred commented. “The videos are being shared across every social media site on the internet as we speak. It won't be long until someone figures out where they are, if someone hasn't already.”

Bruce had pressure building behind his eyes as a headache slowly crept in. He couldn't take his eyes off the photos. Joker was grinning or making a face in each photo. He looked _happy_ while Bruce had been miserable. Worried about Joker’s mental health. Bruce clenched the tablet hard enough for the plastic to creak when a new photo was uploaded of Joker wrapped around Kite Man, kissing his cheek, while the red-faced man smiled at the camera.

“Let Gordon know,” Bruce said, standing up and leaving the tablet. “Joker's drunk. He shouldn't be difficult to track or arrest.”

“With all due respect sir, he's still the Joker,” Alfred responded, dutifully cleaning the desk. “He never makes anything easy.”

Bruce paused at the door.

“It won't be easy, but Jim can do it,” Bruce replied. “I'm going to retire for the night. I need the rest.”

“Very well, sir,” Alfred said slowly. “I shall tidy and contact Commissioner Gordon on the matter. Do take care.”

Bruce went to his room and he tried to sleep. He ended up tossing and turning before finally grabbing his phone. He pulled up Roxy's account and saw the pictures stop. He waited, refreshing the page every few seconds until the next update. Which showed Roxy at her apartment, getting ready for bed.

Bruce sat up and checked on the social media accounts of the other people in the group. Bruce cursed when he saw Music Meister and Kite Man hadn't updated their accounts with anything for the night. Then he went to Standler's account and saw him standing in front of a sex shop. With Joker holding his arms out dramatically as though holding the neon sign in his hands in the background.

The world could have stopped spinning and Bruce wouldn't have been aware.

He tossed the covers off and raced into the Bat cave without wondering why this was the trigger. Alfred anticipated his arrival, having the suit ready and the car filled with gas. He was currently on the phone with Gordon and told him Batman was on his way. Bruce got dressed in record time and arrived only a few minutes after the group left.

“Was the Joker just here?” Bruce asked the befuddled store clerk.

“I think?” the man answered, his wide eyes staring at the twenty in his hand. “Yeah… yeah, that was the Joker.”

A pause.

“He paid for his items.”

Bruce wanted to shake the man out of his stupor but took a deep, controlled breath instead.

“Did you see where they went? Did they talk about where they were going?” Bruce asked.

“Ummm, they split up. It was kind of a blur,” the clerk shook himself. “The two others said they were going home. Joker said… said something about meeting with a friend about shoes?”

Bruce only spent a few more minutes trying to get more clues. He found out Joker came in with Kite Man and Standler. The two men giggled over the sex toys in the back while Joker browsed. Joker ended up buying some lube and a chocolate lollipop which he ate while paying.

The surveillance cameras lacked audio. That only left a few clues.

Lube meant Joker was most likely looking for a sexual partner tonight. Most likely male as well. That could mean Harvey as Joker left his shoes behind at Harvey's apartment. But Harvey was angry with him.

The other option was Waylon.

Shoes. Croc.

 _Dammit_.

Bruce rushed out of the store wanting to curse Joker's poor sense of humor. Wanting to curse himself for not getting the clues at the start and wasting time watching the cameras when he could have chased after Joker sooner. Prevented Joker from choosing Waylon.

Bruce was in the sewers ignoring the scent as he waded through the waters. He paused at each junction and listened for any distant echo. The cars going overhead, and general traffic made it difficult but soon Bruce began to hear something.

He turned down a tunnel and nearly ran into a massive bulk of Waylon. Bruce spring back, fists ready to fight off Waylon, but Waylon fell back into the wall, a man clutching his neck. Bruce narrowed his eyes in the dark and it took him a few seconds to see what was wrong.

Waylon had a very familiar blade shoved into his neck.

“Do you want help with that?” Bruce asked, already lowering his fists.

Waylon growled.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Bruce responded as he pulled out his emergency kit. “I can halt the bleeding and get you stable. You'll still have to see a doctor to get the blade pulled.”

Waylon growled again but lowered his neck to be inspected. Bruce doubted the man could speak without pain at this point. The blade could be touching Waylon's vocal cords. Bruce turned on a light and noticed all the blood around Waylon's mouth.

“Is that blood from your internal wounds?” Bruce asked nodding towards the blood. Waylon glared at him for a few seconds as though debating answering. Then, he shook his head.

Bruce didn't pause in his wrapping, but his heart sped up. The blade was Joker's. The same blade Joker recovered from Oswald's place, and was the one Joker went back for all those months ago and discovered Dale. Joker wouldn't leave the blade unless he had to.

Bruce wrapped the wound and sealed the bleeding quickly.

“Is Joker alive?” Bruce asked, his heart in his throat.

Waylon snorted and nodded. Bruce's chest eased, and he took a few seconds to feel the relief that came with the knowledge. Then, he tossed one of Waylon's arms over his shoulders. There was no option to take Waylon to a hospital. Any criminal who could still fight back would prevent themselves from going there as the hospital would report the injured to the police.

But there was one place that would treat him and not call the police.

“I'm going to bring you to the clinic in the narrows,” Bruce answered, helping Waylon walk. He was almost surprised how easy Waylon went with him.

They limped along, and Bruce had to shoulder almost all of Waylon's weight on his shoulders as they climbed out of the sewers. Bruce was panting and over heating in his suit by the time he buckled Waylon in the car. Their trip to the clinic was quick and only interrupted by updates from Alfred.

“Joker hasn't been spotted by any traffic cameras yet,” Alfred said, tracking Joker without being asked to. “I'll continue looking.”

Bruce didn't respond. The worry was creeping back in as he could see the dried blood around Waylon's mouth. There was a lot of it. More than Bruce first suspected.

He forcefully turned his eyes back on the road.

They had to wait almost an hour before Dr. Thompkins opened her clinic. It wasn't unusual for the clinic to open late as Dr. Thompkins was the only person working it. She had late nights and early mornings. Bruce was too aware of it to be angry at the long wait.

He gladly dropped Waylon off with a serious warning. If the clinic or Dr. Thompkins were hurt, he'd make Waylon's life hell after he broke every bone in his body.

Waylon gave a single nod then allowed Dr. Thompkins to take him into the back room for an x-ray.

Bruce took a deep breath as he saw the morning light beginning to appear on the horizon. So much for his rest. He went to the GCPD and informed a cursing Gordon on his night adventures. He also withheld Waylon's location.

“They won't trust me to treat them if they think I will just turn them in,” Bruce argued.

“Doesn't mean I have to like it,” Gordon responded, lighting up a cigarette. “I get it. Trust me, I do. As much as I hate some of the criminals, I wouldn't wish them to die, bleeding out in a sewer just because they don't want to be arrested.”

Bruce stayed silent.

“Who do you think got the best of Croc?” Gordon asked.

“Joker did,” Bruce responded.

“Joker?” Gordon only seemed mildly surprised. “Figures he’d be the one. Only a handful of people in the world could beat Croc, and the clown, drunk off his ass, does it in a single blow. If I didn’t hate his guts with every fiber of my being, I’d almost admire the guy.”

Bruce fought to not wince at the comment.

Bruce and Gordon spoke for a few minutes longer on Joker. His last known whereabouts, and potential plots to look out for. Bruce fought to remain neutral in the conversation and left as soon as he could. When he returned, Alfred had waited for Bruce to return which only made Bruce feel guilty about not having a productive evening.

Bruce would blame his late night on his shortness with Lex Luthor but that would be a lie. He couldn't stand being in the same room as the man on the best of days let alone after the night he just had. The contracts were good, but Bruce had discovered a glaring issue.

“Your company would still own the patents on any sub-section created tools and devices while Wayne Enterprises would only hold it for the exact product used during the project's course,” Bruce argued, pushing the paper across the table to Lex.

“It's merely attempting to have us in equal footing for ownership without needing all the paperwork,” Lex responded, waving off Bruce's concern.

“It gives Lex Corp the power to use slightly altered versions of our mutual created devices to do with as they please,” Bruce said, leaning back in his chair. “If this were a completely balanced partnership, I'd consider it. This is a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Mr. Wayne, my company is providing the materials and the facilities for this project. It is only common sense that the altered versions be owned by Lex Corp as we are the ones footing most of the bill,” Lex's voice drones as though speaking to a child. Bruce wanted to punch him. “Think of it as, compensation for my investment.”

Bruce stared at Lex with his slight smirk as though he controlled everything. Bruce would only truly consider a partnership if Bruce got a look at Lex Corp's books and that would only be to bring Lex to justice not share profits. The project on the surface appeared like a dream but dig any further it was clear it would cause more problems.

“I appreciate you coming out here to discuss the matter,” Bruce stood up and Lex's smirk fell. “But Wayne Enterprises will have to pass on your generous offer. We're going to move forward with our city projects instead.”

Lex stood, and they shook hands. Bruce felt Lex grip him harder than necessary and they said their good byes. Bruce wasn't looking forward to the board members grilling him over this one and almost wished he drank.

Almost.

Bruce, for the first time in years, opened his phone to his social media page. Bruce wasn't one for social media. He had an account that was run by Barbara and Tim. They had a good time uploading Bruce's car collection with whatever trendy hashtag that was going around. Bruce didn't keep up with it but listened when they discussed what they wanted to post.

Bruce made sure at least once a week they did post charity events, projects, and surveys for concerns from the city. It couldn't all be fun.

Bruce worried their night together was making Joker spiral, but he had seemed alright in the photos, hadn't he?

He pulled up Roxy's account and browsed the photos again. He hoped she posted something new for Joker, but it was just her at walking her dog. And her dog had a new toy.

He shoved his phone away and went back to work.

That evening Bruce was surprised by a visitor. Dick came over for a visit. It wasn't completely odd for Dick to show up out of the blue, but it happened so little that Bruce was taken aback. Pleasantly so.

“Hey Bruce,” Dick said, giving Bruce a hug, which Bruce returned immediately. “I hear it's been a rough few nights for you.”

Bruce looked up at Alfred who refused to appear guilty, holding Bruce's gaze as though to challenge him. Bruce didn't like to tell anyone he had problems since they were his. Dick and his kids had enough on their plates without adding Bruce’s odd complexes to the mix.

“It always gets rough this time of year,” Bruce answered, pulling back. “But it's good to see you between dinners.”

“I will leave you both to catch up,” Alfred said as he moved to leave. “I'll bring dinner in an hour. You two shall be undisturbed in the meantime.”

“Thanks, Al,” Dick said before Bruce could make a comment.

When the door closed to the parlor, Bruce suddenly felt like a trapped animal. He saw Dick trying hard not to stare and hold a smile. Oh. It was going to be one of those talks.

“So, anything new you want to talk about?” Dick started, his voice soft, and unassuming.

Bruce had a moment of panic, wondering if the cameras in the bedroom were routed to the control room. But they weren't. They were on a private server where Bruce could watch by himself or delete the files. He hadn't had the heart to do either yet. Barbara could have hacked the system if she really wanted to.

There's no way she would still be talking to him if she saw. If she knew. Jason would also be gone from Gotham. Unless no one told him. Tim hadn't even hinted at anything but then again, Tim knew how to keep quiet.

Bruce went through his system mentally and checked every possible route. There was no way Dick knew what happened. Not exactly.

“Are you here to tease me about Joker's idea of a date?” Bruce hedges, knowing Dick was hovering on the subject. He almost felt bad when Dick flinched slightly and looked away.

So, it was about that.

“I saw the footage Babs has stored, and heard things from her side,” Dick said, still using his soft voice.

Bruce was in more trouble than he thought.

“Ask what you want to ask,” Bruce said in a confident voice, but his insides were twisted. He learned the hard way in the past that trying to stop Dick from helping was harder than just letting him help.

There were a few beats of silence and Dick took a breath.

“Did Joker sexually assault you?” Dick asked, and all the wind rushed out of Bruce as though he were hit. Dick’s eyes widen, seemingly taking it as confirmation, pulled Bruce into a fierce hug.

Bruce was stunned to the point that it took a few seconds before he pushed Dick back enough to see his face. A face that was full of concern, and anger.

“Joker didn't sexually assault me,” Bruce said slowly. “He punched me, we fought. He left. End of story.”

Dick frowned, a hand clasping Bruce on the shoulder.

“Alfred told me how he found you Bruce,” Dick said. “It's alright if something happened that you didn't intend. But denying it or trying to pretend it didn't affect you isn't healthy. I know you won’t see a professional about this and I’m willing to listen to anything you have to say.”

Bruce wanted to shove him off and tell him that he can handle it. That Dick didn't know what he was talking about. And that was the crux of the problem. No one knew what Bruce was thinking.

Bruce watched his son's face grow in concern, and how damn supportive he was being. The pride Bruce felt for him was always there but at moments like this it came to the forefront. He owed Dick something more than being brushed off, and just earlier this week Bruce was promising he would be better at this. At trusting his family.

“Sit,” Bruce ordered, and Dick stared. It took a second, but Dick went to one of the leather chairs by the fireplace and sat. Bruce joined him in the other.

Bruce breathed, and clenched his fists. He hated this.

“Joker and I… have always had a strange obsession with each other,” Bruce began, watching the clock tick on the wall instead of his son.

“I'm aware,” Dick answered plainly.

“Then it shouldn't come as a surprise that sometimes that obsession leaks over to… other things,” Bruce continued rushing along and trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. “When he showed up looking _normal_ and asking for help on dating so he could fix his relationship with Batman… it became more than a game by the end of the day. It felt… real. And I reacted to that.”

The ticking of the grandfather clock never sounded so loud. Bruce stubbornly stared at it, willing his words back in his mouth, and pretending this whole conversation never happened. That he could just leave, and Dick would accept it.

He wouldn't. And that kept Bruce in the chair.

“I'm going to make sure I have this right,” Dick said slowly. “You finally acted on your attraction to the Joker two nights ago?”

That made Bruce turn to him. Bruce expected disgust, disdain, disappointment, and maybe a combination of them. Instead, he saw Dick with his hands folded, sitting back in the chair as though they were speaking of the weather, and not a hint of judgement. Just understanding.

“You're not shocked?” Bruce couldn't help but ask.

“A little, but no. Not really,” Dick said with a shrug. “Kind of your worst kept secret is how much you care about Joker. I'm a little more shocked _Bruce Wayne_ survived a day with Joker without revealing you're Batman. He tends to have a short fuse with anyone not in a Bat costume.”

“I have my moments,” Bruce answered without thought as the rest of his body felt numb. He couldn't get over how accepting Dick was.

“I don't want all the details, please spare me those, but maybe the cliff note version,” Dick said and shifted in his seat. “After all, I owe you as much courtesy. You may not think it was all that important but… I’ve come to you in the past with my own wayward romances that ended up with city blocks being torn apart and dead bodies. You've never once judged me for who I fell for no matter _who_ it was. You told me, we can't help our feelings, only how we respond to them and I'm going to tell you the same thing.”

“I responded poorly,” Bruce said.

“Maybe so,” Dick put a hand on Bruce's, and squeezed. “But, I'm not here to judge you for it. I'm just here to listen. And maybe gag a little.”

“That’s fair,” Bruce squeezed back with a smile that matched Dick’s.  

They were going to be alright and that mattered more than anything else. Bruce spent a lot of time alone in his life, so he knew the importance of having a family. Dick was the second person Bruce ever let get close to him after his parents. He also had the privilege of seeing Dick grow into the man he is today, and Bruce sometimes can’t believe his luck.

They talked for the full hour. Dick, true to his word, never judged Bruce for his actions. He asked questions for clarity or to get Bruce to see his own actions from another angle. It was like working a case. Bruce was able to distance himself from his actions and it was clear that Joker was in control of himself. That nothing happened without consent. It made Bruce relax by the end and when Alfred came with dinner, they both smiled.

Alfred returned their smiles and his shoulders lifted.

They spent the night on patrol together, giving Tim to night off which he appreciated as he wanted to get back with the Teen Titans. It was like their times as Batman and Robin but improved. Dick was stronger, faster, and wiser than before. They synced up their movements without thought and Bruce could drift into the pattern.

It was comfortable. And nice.

They were able to track down a few smugglers and working as a team, they try made ground on the operation that would have normally taken Bruce a week. They reached the factory, wrapped up the goons, and found Black Mask in a safe room below. Bruce distracted him while Dick crawled through the vents and into the room.

It was wrapped up quickly after that and Bruce called Gordon to have his men pick up the lot.

They returned to the manor together and Bruce made Dick promise to sleep before heading home. Bruce fell into his bed that night with his body sore from all the fighting, but he was lighter than ever. He didn't lose his son over his actions. That was a start.

He just hoped the rest of his family could be as open.

He knew they wouldn’t be. Barbara may never look him in the face again once she found out. Jason… god, Jason would most likely put a bullet in Joker, then Bruce. That wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, even when things were going great between them. Tim was level headed and would most likely be more concerned with Bruce’s mental health than the action. Casandra may be the only one who wouldn’t judge him harshly based on her own background.

There was going to be a fall out eventually but until that day, Bruce leaned on Alfred and Dick’s steadfast natures. They weren’t going to tell anyone, and unless Joker decided to announce their relations, it could stay hidden. Until Bruce figured out a way to not lose his family in the process.

The day in the office wasn't nearly as bad as Bruce feared. There was an explosion at one of Lex's labs the night before and the media was having a field day with it. The conversation surrounding the LexCorp was negative, talks of unsafe work environments, and violating worker's rights. The board members seemed to have a very different opinion of Lex, and Bruce was finally receiving congratulations for not getting Wayne Enterprises tangled up in the mess.

Bruce pulled up the reports of the explosion and wondered what the reason for it was. Lex was claiming a gas line sparked but that couldn't be it since Lex didn't run gas lines in his lab. It was done on purpose, this much Bruce was sure.

Bruce was about to leave for a meeting when he got a phone call. From Clark.

“Clark,” Bruce greeted, pressing his privacy button to close the blinds and soundproof his office.

“Bruce,” came the breathless response. “You would not believe the night I just had.”

Bruce thought back to his date with Joker. Somehow, he doubted Clark could surprise him.

“Well, don't keep me in suspense,” Bruce quipped.

“Did you know Luthor kidnapped the Joker in front of your office yesterday?” Clark asked.

Well… he was surprised.

“No,” Bruce responded, standing up to pace. Joker was here… yesterday. Lex must have caught him on his way out. Why was Joker coming to Wayne Tower?

“He used Joker as bait to get me into the lab that exploded last night. It worked. I was stuck in a room with him for about an hour before the whole place went up,” Clark explained.

“Are you alright,” Bruce asked, already wondering who could heal Clark if anything was wrong. There wasn't exactly a whole lot of doctors that understood how Clark's system worked.

“I'm fine. A few minutes in Earth's upper atmosphere fixed everything,” Clark answered, and Bruce resisted the urge to ask if Clark was sure. “I never thought I would say this with a straight face but… I'm worried about Joker, Bruce. He… he wasn't alright when I got there, and he was in that explosion too.”

Bruce could feel the panic clawing its way up his gut and hollowing out his throat. He swallowed and quickened his pacing.

“What do you mean?” Bruce demanded. “What was wrong with him?”

“He was sitting against the wall. He could barely stand and had a pretty nasty head wound. Lex put Kryptonite around his neck preventing me from getting us out, but I could still use my x-ray vision,” Clark confessed.

“What’s his injuries?” Bruce asked, ready with his own mental list to see what was new.

Waylon had gotten to Joker as his arm was torn through the muscle to the bone. Fractured ribs, skull, and arm. Several massive areas of bruising, a slight infection in his feet since he didn't change the wrapping since Bruce put them on, dislocated knee which was popped back into place but was misaligned. Several cuts from glass, and his palm was bleeding through his glove.

“Have you heard anything from him?” Clark asked when he finished giving a detailed recount.

“No,” Bruce answered in his office calendar already clearing his schedule for the rest of the day. There would be no way Bruce could concentrate on business when he didn't know if Joker was alive.

“There are two more things we need to talk about,” Clark said, and Bruce could hear the fatherly tone. Bruce never got that tone. “He talked about you.”

“Joker is obsessed with Batman,” Bruce said offhanded.

“I know he is but… he was talking about _you_ , Bruce. Not Batman,” Clark emphasized. “He gave me a probably really skewed version of what happened. I don't need any details Bruce, so don't worry but I know you two spent a day together and now he says he's in love with Bruce too. That he thinks he must choose between Bruce and Batman on who he loves and it's… distressing him. I thought I'd give you a heads up. Since… you know. He tends to stalk those he likes.”

“Thanks,” Bruce answered and had to hold onto his desk to ground himself.

Joker confessed he loves Bruce not just Batman? Is that why he was at Wayne Tower yesterday? Was he going to confess his feelings? Would Bruce even be able to accept them seeing as how last time ended up with a piece of glass almost shoved into his neck for it? He had to go find Joker. Make sure he was still alive.

“The last thing, and I promise I'll let you go look for him,” Clark said as though reading his mind. “I was knocked out in that explosion Bruce. The lab was over water. The only explanation for why I didn't drown is because he pulled me out.”

Bruce couldn't breathe. There's no way.

“He _saved_ me,” Clark whispered. “I checked the shore line. There were drag marks. And a pair of feet leaving. I don't know where he is, but when you find him… thank him for me.”

“I will,” Bruce responded.

He didn't hear Clark's goodbye as he held the phone to his ear long enough the line started beeping at him. His hand shook as he ended the call and put the headset down.

Joker didn't kill Waylon when he had the chance. He saved Clark. He asked for help in the week. He went to therapy. He didn't kill anyone since his escape.

He said he was _in love_ with Bruce.

Bruce rushed home just in time to receive the next shocking call of the day. He had just slipped into his batsuit, not even waiting for night to fall. He wanted to get on Joker's trail as soon as possible, and was about to hop into the batmobile when the alert came through.

“Batman, we have a situation,” Gordon said without greetings. “Joker has two hostages in an abandoned building near the Narrows and is demanding to talk to you.”

Bruce barely held a ‘thank god' back at the announcement. Something eased in his chest and he could finally breathe again. Joker was alive. He was well enough to take hostages and make demands.

It wasn't an ideal situation. But, Bruce would take it.

“I'll be right there,” Bruce answered as he was already on his way.

He agreed with Joker on this. They needed to talk. It was about time Batman and Joker had a reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, please leave kudos and/or comments below!


	8. Saturday

Joker cursed viciously as he paddled with a single arm tugging a very heavy when wet Superman behind him. He made sure Superman was floating on his back the whole time as he went since the swim to shore was difficult enough. His arms and legs were already going numb from the cold when he reached shore and his knees gave out.

He tugged on Superman's cape, pulling the man's head and shoulders free of the water. He watched the rise and fall of Superman's chest for a few seconds, glad his efforts weren't completely wasted.

Joker allowed himself to lay down for a few minutes allowing his body some needed rest from the act of swimming to shore with the equivalent of tugging a boat along. His legs were slowly waking up and shooting pain from over stressed muscles and sharp punches from the various wounds due to the explosion. He would have to deal with those but not right now.

Joker tilted his head to watch the building as it continued to burn. Plumes of black smoke rose into the evening sky and distant crackling of a roaring fire reached his ears above the gentle paddling of water lapping at the shore. He could see the twinkling of stars through the smoke and the shine of the moon starting to cut into the sky.

It was a nice picture. Chaos against a night sky. One of Joker's favorite views if he were being honest. He just hated that it was Lex's stupid plan that brought out the beauty. It was a shame though. Joker would have put at least a few fireworks in the mix to really light up the sky or just the chemicals needed to make the smoke change colors.

Purple. He would have made the smoke a brilliant purple.

Joker rolled himself closer to Superman, his hand falling in the man's symbol. Joker could feel the heat of Superman's body even through his gloves. Against the chill of night and the water still soaking Joker to the bone, it was pleasant. Joker curled closer and let his own cold body absorb some of the heat from the unconscious superhero.

He was tempted to fall asleep. To allow himself to drift but he knew better. If he fell asleep here there was a chance he wouldn't wake up. He wasn't afraid of dying but he didn't want to give in. So, he occupied his mind by determining what wounds he had and how he dealt with them in the past.

There were many times in Joker's life that he had been trapped in a place that blew up around him. Usually, he was quick to recover afterwards since the blast itself was easy enough to dodge. It was the shrapnel that killed.

Each piece had to be removed painstakingly by hand least it causes a nasty infection. Joker had spent many evenings digging into his own flesh with a pair of tweezers. That was when Joker wished pain medication worked on him as the pieces always liked to bury themselves next to his nerves. They were always tricky since the longer he took to remove them the more blood loss he suffered, and the harder his hands shook.

His left leg stung like shrapnel had peppered in but wasn't quite ready to dig themselves deeper. He had some time to remove the fragments. He wasn't looking forward to that. But he spent enough time on the shore with Superman breathing next to him. The night was also not going to get any warmer.

Joker pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the sensation of his head feeling as though it were underwater, and inspected his legs. There were patches of blood and his pants were tight over his previously dislocated knee. It was either dislocated again or swollen. Either way, walking with it was going to be a pain.

Joker picked up a shell from the sand, struck it into a rock, and made sure it left a sharp edge. Joker tore Superman's cape and used pieces to bind his wounds. He hobbled over to a tree and broke a branch to use as a support rod for his knee. He wouldn't be able to bend his leg, but he wouldn't lose the kneecap. How else was he supposed to run over the roof tops with Batman?

Joker giggled at the thought.

He finished wrapping up what he could given his limited resources. He gave one last look at Superman on the shore.

“You'd better punch Lex in his smug face for me,” Joker muttered darkly. “Or I'll shove Kryptonite down your throat myself.”

Joker left the shore and made his way back to his home. To Gotham city.

There was a problem with a severe head injury. They can cause all sorts of fun problems such as lack of feeling, distortion of vision, and memory loss. People often do odd things they would never do while under the influence of a brain injury. Often, their personalities can change or alter, depending on where the swelling occurs. But the biggest issue was the loss of time.

That would explain why Joker between seemingly one blink to the next found himself at a bus stop just outside Metropolis with two men who were arguing if Joker was _The Joker_ or not. They were saying things, voices garbled and sharp, their hands gesturing towards Joker who was leaning heavy against the bus stop sign. Normally Joker would make a flourish of movements, scaring the men in the process, or allow them to think he was an impersonator if only to lull them into a false sense of security.

That was always fun.

The issue was, Joker could barely keep his head up. The world was tilting under his feet, worse than it had when he drank with the low-class villains. Stability wasn't his friend, and neither was attempting any plans. So, it came as no surprise with his limited resources, one of them felt brave enough to approach.

Joker watched impassively as the man shuffled closer, and then he blinked.

Upon opening his eyes, Joker could feel the rumble of the road below him. He peered around to see the almost empty bus. Joker was in the front, half collapsed into the seat with an old yellowed phone book in his lap. He was missing a glove. The one that covered his most recent palm wound which had a scab over it, and flaking dried blood. He glanced up and saw the two men from the stop huddled in the back, refusing to look his way. One was clearly missing part of an ear and Joker had a copper taste in his mouth.

Well, at least they were leaving him alone.

Curled in his other hand was a page he had ripped from the book. He slowly unfolded up to see an address written on it. The last name was familiar, but he couldn't place it. He had a plan to go to this place, but Joker couldn't remember why. There was also a wallet there that wasn't Joker's.

His head pounded as the bus hit a steep pot hole in the rode and Joker closed his eyes against the sudden jarring. He gripped the seat as the phone book was dislodged from his lap, and Joker felt the world slip.

Joker squeezed his eyes shut. He blinked rapidly after, hoping what he would see next would make sense to him.

He was in a house. Suburban home by the looks of it. The kitchen was white tiled, simple wood cabinets, and every piece of décor was rooster themed. The dish towels hanging from the stove door, the oven mittens, paper towel holder, and the salt and pepper were a rooster and hen. Oh, variety!

The red and white checkered tablecloth under Joker's bare hands covered a modest round dining table. There was also a mug between his hands. Of hot chocolate. With marshmallows!

Joker didn't know where he was but any place that served him this had to be trustworthy.

He took a sip and felt the liquid warm him from gullet to gut. He curled his toes which also seemed weird as they weren't in his shoes. Joker glanced down and saw rooster themed slippers on his feet.

 _Huh_.

“Are you warmed up?” asked a sweet, northern Michigan accented voice.

Oh, Joker knows THAT voice!

“Susan my dear, I am,” Joker responded, his eyes finally settled on the mousey woman from the couple's therapy session.

Like before, she was all pleasant smiles as though she popped out of a 1950’s sitcom. Her blue checkered apron tied around her waist, hair in perfect pin curls, and her lips a luscious red color. If she had a pearl necklace Joker would start pinching himself to make sure this was real.

“We were worried about you,” Susan mentioned, going to the oven and checking on whatever she was cooking. Joker smelled the air and it was filled with the savory scent of beef slow cooking, and something else. Tomato maybe?

“I always recover,” Joker said then took another sip of his hot chocolate. It was far richer and tastier than what Eddie served him. He grinned at the thought.

“That's what you said when you first got here,” Susan commented. She tutted at her meal in the oven before shutting the door and turning to Joker. “I'm sure Charlie will be back home soon with some soup for you.”

“Soup?” Joker questioned. Then. “Charlie?”

“Oh, you asked for soup before you threatened to gut my husband if he told anyone you were here,” Susan responded pleasantly. “And Charlie is my husband.”

Joker tilted his head. There was a pudgy man with a terrible comb over somewhere in his memory. He glanced over to the pictures hanging on the wall.

“Oh! _Greg_!” Joker announced.

“You do call him that,” Susan said with a nod. Then a timer went off, and she turned to pull out whatever it was she had cooked.

Joker blinked.

He was sitting in the living room now with an empty bowl that probably houses some sort of soup, and a taste of chicken broth in his mouth. His stomach was pleasantly warm and full. He looked around to see Susan and her husband gathering various items to pile them up on the carpet in front of their TV.

There was nylon rope, duct tape, zip ties, and long scarfs. Joker watched the couple for a few seconds.

“Did I ask you to do that?” Joker asked.

“You did,” Susan answered. “Said we should gather as much supplies as we can if we're going to be hostages for you.”

Joker grinned.

“You're helping kidnap yourselves?” Joker giggled. “Oh, you two are _delightful_!”

“Of course,” Susan said with a nod as she pulled out a hand knitted bag from the closet. “It's part of our couple therapy. Help others with their problems as a team. Right, Charlie?”

Charlie, who was pale faces, sweating, and his eyes darted between the grinning clown, and his wife who gathered the rope into a cute pink knitted bag. He seemed to be taking it in stride though as he sighed.

“Yes honey,” Charlie said begrudgingly. He turned towards Joker. “I’m only agreeing to this because you promised you wouldn't hurt either of us.”

“Aren't you just such a doll,” Joker commented then tasted some of the meatloaf. “You forgot to add salt.”

Susan gasped.

“That's what I'm missing!” she turned to Charlie. “I just knew there was something off.”

“Also, if you actually care about flavor, use ketchup not tomato paste,” Joker commented, pushing the plate away. His stomach was rolling anyways.

Susan smiled at him, nodding, and went into the kitchen while Charlie turned to watch his wife. Charlie added his meatloaf slices to Joker’s abandoned plate when Susan wasn’t looking. Joker was beginning to understand why they needed therapy.

Joker had a pounding headache behind his right eye and closed his eyes to alleviate some of the pain.

The world fell away again.

There was an advantage to be the kind of person Joker was. His reputation alone for being crazy made it easier to brush off strange actions when he was suffering from head wounds. People expected that from him and only gave him a better case when pleading insanity whenever they dared to put him on trial. The other big advantage was he knew even without memory of his actions, what to expect from himself.

When he came to again, he was sitting on a crate in an abandoned building with his injuries leg stretched out. The windows were covered with pile boards and fabric. There was a metal barrel in the center of the room that was burning newspaper and other items to cast a gentle dancing light through the room. In front of Joker was Charlie, doing a poor impression of a hostage as he was nervously speaking to Joker while Susan spoke on a cell phone.

“Oh yes, it is definitely Joker that is with us,” Susan said, nodding. “He wants to speak to Batman only. No one else can enter or he says he will kill us.”

Joker really wanted to see the look on the person was taking that call. Susan's voice was pleasant as though scheduling a doctor's appointment. She provided greater detail on the situation to the person, each gruesome fact was said with a smile.

Joker really, _really_ liked her.

Then he turned to Charlie who was shaking.

“What are you going on about?” Joker asked.

Charlie squeaked in terror. He fell back on his butt, and nearly skittered away. He watched Joker with wide eyes for a few seconds, and seeing that Joker wasn't moving to harm him, calmed enough to speak.

“W-we agreed to keep you awake,” Charlie stuttered. “Susan read in the medicine book that you might have a concussion.”

“Oh, I definitely have a concussion,” Joker interrupted. His brain felt like it was pushing on his skull and eyeballs. Most likely the swelling was getting worse. He was losing short term memory, which was never a good sign, and the gaps were becoming longer.

 “So, we need to keep you awake,” Charlie explained. “Susan is busy dealing with the cops to get Batman here.”

“Did I ask for Batman?”

“Y-yes?”

Well, that was something. Joker wished he remembered what he wanted to say to the caped crusader. Perhaps it was just about getting back into their routine? Joker was missing it like a smile on his lips. It had been months since they last saw one another, and after the week Joker just had, he could use something familiar.

Joker avoided nodding, the room spinning as he adjusted his seat. Pain shot up from his knee enough to cause him to gasp quietly. He still had shrapnel scattered through his body and they were starting to itch. He needed to get some tweezers, alcohol, and lots of bandages.

Maybe he could get Susan to do the work for him? She was already eager to assist him with this whole kidnapping thing. He also had a recently opened spot for a henchwoman since Harley left. Would she even fit in the red and black suit? Maybe she could wear something else. Joker wasn't sure if he ever wanted to see someone else wear Harley's suit. It didn't feel right.

Maybe Harley would come back when she was done being mad? Maybe...

“Are you sure you don't want to go to a hospital?” Charlie asked, his hands hovering as though wondering if he should help. “You look like you could use one.”

“And you look fantastic too, buttercup,” Joker responded through gritted teeth. He held his leg still, and soon the pain went from sharp jolt to a bearable throbbing.

“Batman is on his way,” Susan announced while hanging up the call. “The nice officer on the line said that we should hold tight and everything was going to be OK. He was very insistent that we stay put.”

“Did you by chance catch a name?” Joker inquired.

“Jim Gordon,” Susan replied, and Joker blacked out again from laughing too hard.

The next time Joker opened his eyes Charlie was in the worst set of knots Joker had ever seen. They were sloppy, uneven, and far too loose to ever hold someone properly. It appeared that Charlie tried to tie himself up which was just pathetic. Batman would know instantly that Joker didn't tie those knots.

For one thing, Charlie certainly wouldn't be able to squirm if Joker tied him up.

Susan, on the other hand, was not tied up or acting pathetic. Her voice was drifting into Joker's mind and he turned to try and locate her. There was no reason why she should be talking to anyone. Unless the police had called to tell them Batman hadn't shown up yet, which would be disappointing. Joker did like Susan rather well and it would be a shame for him to have to kill her and throw her corpse out the window.

Well, no. He could use _Charlie_ first. Susan needed a better husband anyways. Harvey Dent was single after all and twice the man. Literally.

Joker peered through the room and finally located Susan. She was in the doorway, hands on her hips, and was speaking with Batman, who loomed like an ill omen.

Joker perked up at his presence, all the aches and pains of his body drifting away. His love was in the room, just as broad shouldered and monstrous as Joker remembered. Joker felt his heart thump against his rib cage, and his mouth grow dry at the sight.

“Hello darling,” Joker said with a smile.

Batman and Susan stopped speaking. Susan turned, saying something but Joker had lost interest in her. His eyes connected to the white lenses, and the rest of the world became a distant thought. Only Batman was in brilliant focus. Joker shivered as he felt Batman's gaze roam over him.

“Joker,” Batman greeted, and Joker closed his eyes in pleasure at the low tone. How he missed it. It was low, dark, and did delicious things to Joker's body. He could listen to his Bat speak for hours without growing bored.

Or at least Joker images he could since Batman wasn't one for long conversations. Or more than four words spoken together.

“It's been too long since we last danced, don't you think?” Joker asked, his smile growing, and his heart pounding in his chest. “Far too long if you ask me.”

Batman seemed to mull over his words.

“Let the couple go,” Batman said.

Joker looked at the couple. Charlie was who scared the big bad Bat might arrest him, so he tied himself up to make the whole situation of being a hostage more believable, and Susan, the oblivious woman who just wanted to help someone. They had no part to play in their dance. Not anymore.

“I've learned in therapy it's important to listen to your partner,” Joker said. He saw the tension in Batman's frame. That was no good. “You two love birds skedaddle. Mommy and daddy need some alone time.”

Charlie practically sprung to his feet, shedding the ropes as he did. He went to his wife, grabbing her arm to lead her away but she stubbornly stood by Batman. She looked up at Batman with a critical eye.

“Remember. Keep him awake because of the concussion, and that communication is the key to a healthy relationship,” she said.

Joker had to stifle a giggle at Batman's serious nod.

“Tell the commissioner not to send anyone in. That I have the situation under control,” Batman said as Susan and Charlie shuffled out of the room.

Batman and Joker stayed still as they listened to the couple leave down the staircase and out the front door. It was as if they couldn't begin with intruders amongst them. No, this was their moment. They were the only ones who needed to bear witness to the reunion, and Joker was glad Batman understood that.

The room was quiet on their leave. Only the scattered sounds of the fire still crackling in the barrel, and the distant shuffling of the no doubt large amount of police officers waiting outside to arrest Joker. They would be mad as hornets, buzzing around the outside, held back by Batman's words that he had this under control. That only they could be inside.

Batman was the first to break their silence, but he continued to loom at a distance.

“Thank you,” Batman said, his voice so quiet Joker almost missed it.

Joker let out a disbelieving laugh. His head hurt for it.

“For freeing the obviously _not_ held captive, captives?” Joker questioned.

“For saving Superman,” Batman clarified.

Oh. _That_.

Joker didn't know why but he couldn't keep eye contact with the Bat. This wasn't part of their typical game. Batman didn't thank him for doing good deeds. Joker never did any to be thanked for but that was besides the point. It made Joker feel like there was a stone in his stomach and he disliked it.

“Yeah well, he owes me,” Joker muttered. “I need him to punch Lex in the face. Twice. And I couldn't let Lex's plan succeed when he used me as unwilling bait.”

“Even still,” Batman said, taking a small step forward. “Thank you for doing it.”

“I'm never saving anyone again if it gets you this weepy,” Joker grumbled. He would cross his arms, but his left arm went numb. That probably wasn't a good sign. Neither was the dancing spots in his vision.

He made sure to keep at least one eye open as Batman kept moving forward between his blinks. Joker couldn't afford to allow Batman within grabbing distance. Not while the room was tilting.

Batman took another step forward and Joker let out a warning growl deep in his throat. That caused the Bat to stop. They were at a stand still again.

“You wanted to talk,” Batman said. “I'm listening.”

“With those big, pointy ears I would hope so,” Joker said with a grin tasting of copper. “Unless they're just for show.”

“Joker,” Batman's voice quiet but sharp.

Joker watched Batman pause and wondered what the cape crusader wanted him to say. Sure, Joker had a plan at one point to tell Batman something but the pounding in his head, not to mention the short-term memory loss, was really starting to fuzz his brain. When this happened in the past, Joker would just wing it and hope for the best. But he wanted to try.

Batman did look earnest. And he _was_ listening.

Joker could tell him how much he hated when Bats played with others that weren't him. He could say how their relationship was worth more than the quick fights, and silent rides to Arkham it had become. That Joker wanted to go back to the way they were before. Big performances where they bantered with each other, and the chase was half the fun. When it was just the two of them. No Robin. No sidekicks. Just them against the night sky, battling across rooftops, near death falls, and adrenaline.

The only issue was, Joker wasn't sure if he wanted that anymore. Their routine was great but stale. They were an older couple who lost the spark, but not the connection, and Joker couldn't solve their problems on his own.

“I'm tired,” Joker said with a sigh. He didn't realize until he said those words how much was true. Not just the exhaustion of his wrecked body but the bone deep weariness that grew over time. “I'm tried of running in circles, Bats.”

“You don't have to anymore,” Batman said and took another step. He was only a few feet away. Almost close enough to touch. When had that happened?

“But I _do_ ,” Joker argued and squeezed his eyes shut. His head hurt. “It's our song, Bats.”

When Joker opened his eyes, he saw Batman kneeling in front of him. His heart leapt into his throat as the Dark Knight stayed still, not attacking, just observing. Joker never resented the white lens Batman had until now. He wanted to see what color Batman's eyes really were. He had a feeling they would be a pretty blue.

Like Bruce's.

Joker took a sharp breath. Bruce. He shouldn't be thinking of Bruce when he has a Bat in front of him, frowning, and listening. But Joker wanted Bruce to be here. He wanted Bruce to take him to bed, heal him like Joker could tell he wanted to. He wanted exciting nights verbally sparring, going to parties, and allowing Bruce to paint his body in kisses.

God, this was getting full on sappy romance.

Joker grinned and swung at Batman's head with his fist. It was sloppy, wide, and would have hurt Joker worse than Batman. He was almost glad that Batman caught his fist before it could land.

“Let's dance,” Joker hissed and pushed forward.

Joker was injured, aching, close to passing out but he would be damned if he didn't remind Batman why he should never be underestimated. Batman held Joker's fist, griping it tightly, and Joker swung his foot into Batman's knee.

It only made the Knight frown at him, and a quick grab at Joker's shirt, with a shove, knocked Joker's ass right back onto the crate. Joker's head rattled, and his body had so many places shooting with pain he could barely tell where the worst one was.

The worst part of the whole thing was Joker could tell Batman was being gentle. On a normal night, their fists would have collided by now. Joker would be feeling the throbbing of bruises from hard knuckles on his chest and face. Blood would be flowing from his nose and lips, the burst of adrenaline would sing in his veins. The night was never so beautiful as it was painted in his red blood sprayed across Batman's chest.

Joker took a few more swings, each one Batman countered but never returned a blow. When Joker aimed for the Dark Knight's head, his wrist was caught. Joker pulled, but the grip was tight, and he tried to pry the fingers off with his other hand. It was childish, but they weren't acting like their usual selves tonight.

Batman grabbed his other wrist, both secured now, and pushed until Joker was seated on the crate, held down by Batman's sheer weight. He struggled, his head felt as though it were splitting in two, until Batman spoke.

“Stop. Please,” Batman's voice was strained, and Joker felt all the fight draining out of him as quickly as it came.

Batman never begged. It wasn't something he did even when Joker had groups of innocent people hanging over acid! He demanded, he argued, and he worst of all, he gave looks of disapproval. But he didn't plead with Joker. Ask him to look at his better nature. That was never in the play book.

Batman slowly released Joker's wrists when he didn't move to keep the fight going. Joker immediately dug his fingers into his scalp, pressing at the points of pain. Batman returned to his kneeled position and waited for Joker to get his equilibrium back.

Joker peaked through his fingers at Batman who was making his thinking face.

“If this is our song, and we're dancing,” Batman began. He held out a hand, palm up. “May I lead?”

Joker had the urge to laugh. It bubbled up in his throat but only came out as a weak cough. He wanted this for so long. Batman, speaking to him on the level. Batman, kneeling in front of him and offering to start their dance off for once. It should have lit his whole body like a wild fire.

But the image of Bruce taking the same position a few days ago imposed itself over Batman. His earnest face. His patience. His fingers, strong, and warm holding Joker's ankle.

Joker was right. He'd have to choose which one he wanted. The soft domestic life Bruce offered or the wild thrill ride that was Batman. Each gave him something, and Joker was loathed to deny himself anything. Perhaps he just needed more time. Another chance to see the puzzle from a different angle.

Joker touched his fingers to Batman's glove.

“I… I might want a different partner,” Joker confessed. He pushed Batman's hand closed and held onto the loose fist. “I need a break from us. To see if… I screwed up my first dance with him but… I want to try again.”

Joker could feel the heat rolling off Batman. His head pounded with his heart as he watched Batman stare at their hands. Neither of them moved for a time.

“A break?” Batman inquired.

“Just… until I know who I want to be my _permanent_ dance partner. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

“Who is it?” Batman asked, and Joker chuckled.

“Jealous?”

“Of course,” Batman answered plainly. “I like dancing.”

Joker stared. Batman… told a joke. Joker’s smiled cracked open, laughter spilling from him at the sheer joy of hearing the man say something intentionally funny. This week really was something else. It could also be the brain damage. Joker is pretty sure this _could_ be a dream.

Maybe. Everything was fading, and the corners of his vision was going dark. The dancing spots were growing, and his eyes were losing focus.

“A pretty boy,” Joker answered. “My Bruce. I do protest to you trying to warn him off me, Bats. I don't need you scaring him off more than I already have.”

“If you can't frighten him, I doubt much can,” Batman said, his other hand coming up and gently touching at Joker's forehead. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“ _Pfft_. You're just trying to get me alone in your car,” Joker said, his eyes feeling heavier now that the danger of a fight has passed. He leaned into Batman's hand. “Trying to take advantage of a poor, injured clown. I swear this isn't me just playing hard to get.”

“Joker?” Batman’s voice was sounding distant.

Joker was pretty sure he felt two strong arms wrap around him but that couldn't be right. He was just sitting up with Batman in front of him. But his cheek started to feel cold as it pressed against armor and his body was moving. Through squinted eyes he could see the room was spinning and a dark shape was leaning towards him. Fingers pressed into his head, then cupped his jaw.

Batman was cradling him in his arms like a lover and here Joker was, too tired to do anything about it. Joker wanted to open his mouth, tell Batman he was alright. How could he not be when he was being held so tenderly? He had Batman’s full attention and it was glorious.

He was just exhausted. He just needed a quick nap, then they could dance. And maybe he could convince Bruce to come with.

That would be fun.


	9. One Week Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been a labor of love. Thank you all for going on this journey with me, and I hope you enjoy the final installment.

Arkham wasn't known for its hospitality. The walls were painted a terrible off-white color that was stained over the years by various fluids no one wanted to ask about. The floor titles were nice in the visiting hall but behind the swinging door, there were various cracks ranging from tiny to beyond repair. The corners of the rooms were filled with grime and mold left from decades of mopping that never quite reached the edges. The people who occupied the hospital were much the same as the place, and only those who enjoyed the macabre or were insane thought of it as _homely_.

Luckily, Joker was both.

The florescent lights hummed with electricity as Joker was wheeled through the hall. Joker could smell the strong disinfectant chemicals used that dried his nose and dulled his taste when they passed the last of the medical rooms. Two guards flanked the chair, which Joker found cute as they nervously grasped their guns. The guard leading the charge was Aaron Cash, an old veteran of Arkham and one of the only guards that's survived for over a decade. His hand, however, wasn't so lucky as it was replaced with a prosthetic. Something about a crocodile in the basement.

Joker giggled to himself which made the two guards jump.

He would normally have made a big scene of this. Him, being wheeled back into Arkham's loving embrace after a stint in the Gotham Hospital Joker's previously blown up. Twice. But he was feeling subdued lately.

He didn't get a chance to enjoy Batman's amorous embrace during his trip to the hospital. Everything was a terrible blur. Snippets and moments flashed in his mind of his week-long stay in Gotham General. He had two doctors fighting over how long they could keep Joker drugged to unconsciousness. Joker heard their argument which was rather rude since they were shouting over his bed.

It was too bad Joker was so tired or else he would have shown those doctors how to have better bed side manners.

Joker also wasn't used to anything being on his bedside table other than discarded food. He could have sworn there was a get well soon card. He wished they let him keep that, but he had a feeling it was from Susan since Harley would have sent flowers. Ironically given who her wife was.

He may have gotten it wrong but there was a distinct Bat shaped shadow on his wall every night. Batman could have just come in to visit instead of lurking at the window but then again, that was more of his style. Joker wouldn't have it any other way.

Despite the visitor, Joker didn't like being in the hospital. Not just because that meant he was messed up enough to require severe medical attention. It was because he had no pull at the place. No way to pass any little love notes to Bruce. Not that he wrote any.

He barely had any time between bouts of drug induced sleep to think of what to write. They were cautious at the hospital. They kept Joker under nearly his whole stay and despite the broken ribs, kept him strapped to the bed. And handcuffed. And cuffed at his ankles. They also put a tube in him so he wouldn't have to move to go to the bathroom which was just uncalled for. Joker was a big boy. He knew how to use the toilet.

Joker giggled again, making the nurse pushing his chair jolt him in fear.

“Quiet,” Cash said, turning to eye Joker. “Don't think we forgot about your last day here. They were three good men you killed.”

Joker shrugged. His mouth was bound as well as his chest, legs, feet, and hands. Apparently, they thought he might bite or attack someone. Joker doesn't know where they ever got that silly notion.

The guards were staring at him as though he could do or say anything wrapped up like this. The pills the hospital had him on were still slowly working through his system which made his eyes droop. And hey, he looked pathetic enough they all finally decided to restart the march down the hall in unison.

Joker watched as they passed by the cells. Each inmate was locked away when Joker arrived no doubt. Many of them would love to get their hands on an injured Joker. Not that the injuries gave them much of a chance surviving an encounter with Joker, but the odds were vastly improved. When one had it out for the clown they would take whatever they could get. It was rare Joker had to be cautious in any way. Not that he would let on of course. He just may tip his hand with the more unsavory guards this stay to keep him on closer watch until his ribs fully mended. One could never be too careful in a hospital.

Joker started humming a tune to himself. A plan already forming. Arkham may be his home away from home but it required a different mindset. He had to be _crazy_ in the nuthouse. It was a requirement to survive and helped build a reputation Joker used when on the outside. He just needed to keep his thoughts violent and lock away those softer ones for now. There would be time to explore those on his next break out. When he could try to dance with Bruce again.

Joker leaned back in the chair and relaxed. No need to rush that particular plan. He had at least a few weeks to heal. He also needed a good scrub down. Only the best for his Bruce.

They passed the end of the cell block near the back elevators that lead into the deeper parts of Arkham. They should be taking the west hall towards the back gated route where the deep tissue scanners awaited, and most likely a cavity search. But the team moved down a different hall than maximum security. Joker knew the halls of Arkham better than anyone. He kept himself from reacting as his mind worked through the possibilities.

No chance for any type of remodeling. Despite the funds going into the place, they rarely added anything more than security measures or lined their own pockets. There was an open ward in this direction but it was attached to the rec room, which Joker wouldn't typically have access to until his first week evaluation was completed. They also wouldn't leave him injured in the room. It was too much of a risk for the other patients, and all the paperwork for how Joker ended up there.

They could be taking him somewhere without cameras to get back at him for killing those guards. Joker knew there was a room used for interviews this way where no cameras or audio reached. It's where the less trustworthy guards brought patients to beat them senseless. Or horny guards to have a bit of play time with a patient. Poison Ivy made her escape many times by promising guards a good time in that room. Though, Ivy was the only person having fun those times as the guards were used as potting soil when she was finished with them.

Joker counted the bumps and the tiles. They were heading towards the solitary room and not a single person looked confused at to their destination. They were all aware. Which didn't make complete sense. Cash was a straight-laced guard. Always had a stick up his ass. He didn't beat patients even those that deserved a good smack. He's often the one who stopped the abuse and got the guards fired.

It's why no inmate has killed Cash on their escapes. Cash was decent. And smart usually. They left him alone.

Joker eyes must be burning holes in the back of Cash's head because he turned to look at Joker.

“Believe it or not, you have a visitor,” Cash said. “Though, who wants to pay to see your crazy ass is beyond me.”

Joker stared harder now. There was a short list of people who would pay the money needed to get Joker wheeled to a room upon return to Arkham. The usual suspects were people with a lot of pull. Doctors who wanted to get their jollies off telling Joker how they were the one that would cure him!

They usually only lasted a few weeks at most before Joker broke them. And they usually waited for the first session unless one was just getting frisky.

The other option was the powerful. Other villains sometimes would pull Joker to the side and ask for advice. That happened on rare occasions, but it _did_ happen. Riddler was the most common, but he wouldn't want anything to do with Joker. Not yet anyways. Riddler was still hyper focusing on Batman's identity for blackmail purposes which Joker would never assist with. After all, why spoil the fun? Then there was Oswald, who wouldn't waste a single penny, let alone the thousands this venture most likely cost, to get Joker in a room. Joker didn't have any insights into the smuggling business that Oswald would know enough about to want to speak with Joker. It wasn't Joker's fault Oswald couldn't keep up with who was running what business. Crane was also possible, but he would start with invading a therapy session instead. Previously being a doctor in the asylum helped him to blend in. Hardly anyone questioned his presence when he wasn't wearing a burlap sack over his head.

There were a few people who could pull outside the villains and Joker couldn't help but think Bruce could do it. Bruce was on the board of director for Arkham and had enough money to make the mob jealous. Or maybe it was Lex trying to get back at him? Oh, this felt slightly more like a Lex thing. No cameras and paid off guards. Joker was going to kill Superman himself if it was Lex.

They wheeled Joker down the dimly lit hallway and stopped in front of a steel door. Cash took out his ring of keys to unlock it.

They always get so angry whenever someone calls Arkham a prison. It was a place of healing, of security, is what they said. Where a patient, not prisoner, could work through their issues. But when the loud clang of a lock echoed down the halls, and two men with loaded guns ushered a bound man in a chair into a cold room with a single light bulb, it certainly feels like a prison.

The room was painted the same off white color the rest of the place sported. The light bulb seemed to swing gently from side to side even with no windows to allow a breeze to push it. The room was bare with the exception of a table bolted to the concrete flooring, and a single chair on the other side. They must have removed the second chair before bringing Joker in, and that meant planning went into this.

Joker was wheeled in quickly and was disappointed to not see his visitor already in the seat. The nurse parked Joker on the side closest to the door, leaving his back open. Joker didn't like that. The hairs raised on the back of his neck as the guards swept the barren room as though someone could have hidden something in there. Joker had a lot of pull but even _he_ wasn't quite that good.

Joker waited for them to release the binding on his mouth, so he could voice his objection to having his back at the door or at least poke at Cash just once, but they all filed out. Joker heard the door shut behind them and their foot steps fade away.

Well. This was boring.

Joker stared at the concrete wall and repressed a shiver. The thin blanket they tossed over his lap barely held any heat in and on the trip down here, every bump slowly moved it off. Joker rubbed his knees together as well as he could to try to push the fabric higher on his legs.

He started making a game of it and almost got it over his other knee where he could jerk the material up when there was a pair of foot steps hurrying towards the room. Not running, but a fast walk.

Joker paused and waited.

The door opened behind him and whoever it was froze there for a few seconds. Then, the door closed, and Joker took a deep breath.

Clean laundry. Masculine. Subtle but strong.

 _Bruce_.

Joker wished he had the ability to turn his head but the straps they had him in prevented any movement. He wanted to squirm, to speak, to do anything to let Bruce know he was glad to see him, but he was pinned too tightly to the chair, and the binding on his mouth prevented him from speaking.

Bruce circled the table and Joker's eyes zeroed in on the man as soon as he was within sight. He looked good, but Bruce always did. The little love tap Joker gave him was completely healed, leaving his face unmarred. His dark hair combed back, his face cleanly shaven, and Joker couldn't help but wonder if that was for him.

Joker watched as Bruce’s eyes roamed over him and he felt a thrill in his gut. Bruce’s mind was obviously whirling, and Joker waited.

Bruce shook his head and reached out to Joker's face. He quickly removed the rigging with ease, his nimble fingers working to undo the straps. Joker shivered when Bruce's warm skin brushed against his own, and when the leather fell away from Joker's face, he sighed.

“Hello Bruce,” Joker said, and licked his dry lips.

“Hello Joker,” Bruce responded as his hand lingered.

Joker watched as Bruce put the straps down on the table and hesitated. The air seemed charged and for once, Joker didn't want to press any buttons. He was going to let Bruce take the lead.

Bruce took a few seconds, his gaze once again looking Joker over, pausing at each strap. Joker could tell he wanted to rip them off and check Joker properly. But that wasn't part of the deal he made.

No. Arkham may be stupid but even they have their limits on what they will be paid off for. Bruce could have his private talk, but Joker would have to remain in his bindings. Joker didn't begrudge them or Bruce. After all, he did put a piece of broken glass to Bruce's neck last time they met.

Joker’s gaze went to Bruce’s neck. The collar of his shirt was too high for Joker to spot any lingering wounds or scars. He doubts a small cut would even show anymore, but he wanted to know.

Bruce sat across from Joker.

“I read the medical reports,” Bruce started, his voice calm, sure. Professional. Joker could work with that.

“I'm sure they were riveting,” Joker said with his voice cracking slightly at disuse.

“How much of that were you suffering from when you left?” Bruce asked.

“Not the important bits,” Joker responded. He paused to clear his throat. “Are you worried you broke a rib or two when we wrestled?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Bruce admitted.

Joker giggled and shook his head.

“Oh sweetie,” Joker said fondly. “Our little tussle didn't even give me rug burn. So, don't worry your pretty little head over _me_.”

“You cut your hand,” Bruce reminded him. Joker didn't flinch.

“Ah, yes…” Joker nodded. “Better that than your neck I suppose.”

“Only suppose?”

“Well, wouldn't want you to think I _liked_ you,” Joker said with a grin, but cold sweat was gathering at the back of his neck. “Can't imagine how big your head would get then. None of my threats would work anymore and then where would we be?”

“I don't know,” Bruce said quietly but intensely. “Where would we be?”

Joker looked away and his mouth dried. Where would they be indeed. Joker knew his own feelings and never had an issue expressing them with Batman. Hell, he told the Dark Knight he loved him almost every time they encountered one another. It was their rhythm. Their dance and Joker knew all the steps, but this was Bruce. They had different song. Slower, softer. Joker didn't know the moves.

Bruce was supposed to lead.

“Joker…” Bruce said, and Joker stared at his chin. “I’m here to talk.”

“Talk?” Joker asked, then giggled a bit. “I was hoping for a rousing horizontal tango myself. I mean, you only got off the _one_ time. I think we’re a bit off-balanced, don’t you? Loosen up these straps and I’ll be in ready in just a few minutes love. Or don’t. I’m sure you can just hop on the table and let my mouth-”

“Joker-”

“I mean, it’s not like anyone is going to _find out_ , if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m sure your money bought the silence of the guards as Arkham sure as hell doesn’t pay them well enough. This room is locked tight, and all sorts of sordid activities happen here. I’ve even taken Harley here one or twice in the past. Never a peep from anyone! I bet the walls are sound proof. We could be fucking like rabbits and no one would-”

“Enough!” Bruce shouted, his hands clenched, and the tips of his ears turning red.

Joker slowly closed his mouth.

“I’m just here to talk,” Bruce repeated. He paused as though steeling himself for something. Joker found himself intrigued. “Are you interested in me visiting you while you stay here?”

Joker blinked. Bruce held still as though trying to pretend his words didn’t make him nervous, but Joker could see it. That playboy mask was slipping again and revealing the man underneath who seemed as drawn to Joker as he was to Bruce.

“Are you asking me on a date?” Joker grinned.

“Visiting,” Bruce insisted. His face was frowning but Joker could see the light in his eyes.

“You’re asking to visit,” Joker felt giddy with excitement. “All this set up, all the money you put into bribing the guards to bring me to a room with no cameras or audio, far from prying eyes and ears, all so you could ask for _visitations_? Please, Bruce. I’m not stupid. This means more than that, and we _both_ know it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have hacked into my medical files. I know they’re off limits to the public.”

Bruce was the one to look away, and Joker had a few seconds to marvel at the beautiful man in front of him. The guts on Bruce… a man capable of buying his way into anything and he spends it on getting some alone time to ask for a relationship. It was sweet. And for some reason, it didn’t make Joker want to gag at it.

“I wasn’t lying when you asked me why I followed you,” Bruce said, his gaze now back on Joker, and Joker felt his breath catch. “I want to get to know you.”

“You’ve already mapped out most of my body, lover boy,” Joker said with a flirty wink. “I don’t think there’s much more to explore, but I’m game!”

“This isn’t a joke,” Bruce snapped, his brows furrowing, and his hands clenching.

“That doesn’t mean it _isn’t_ funny,” Joker quipped, tilting his head. “You're purposing we get to know one another. While I'm flattered you're asking, I’m not some flighty super model looking to get her career boasted by hanging on your arm, Bruce. Being with me isn’t going to be all shopping trips, and parties. I’m _crazy_ and not in the ‘I sometimes argue over little things’ way, but in the ‘I may stab you if you say the wrong thing one day or even if you don't’ way.”

Bruce frowned deepened.

“I know,” Bruce’s voice was annoyingly calm. “I’ve seen what you’ve done.”

“The news censors, sweetheart,” Joker said in a sing song manner. “It’s different seeing it up close.”

Bruce’s fingers went to the collar of his shirt on his neck. Joker followed with his gaze as they both remembered the moment when Joker held the glass there. Joker could see there wasn’t a mark, but that didn’t stop his stomach from dropping at remembering the blood there. From the sudden fear he had thinking he hurt Bruce.

His Bruce.

“I know,” Bruce said quietly. “You have a mean punch.”

Joker couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out from his chest. It hurt to laugh, his ribs creaked, and bruising in his chest sent his lungs into a panic. That didn’t stop it from tumbling out of his lips though and when Bruce’s mouth quirked up into his not-smiles, Joker thought the pain was worth it. The tension was slowly easing from Joker's shoulders.

“You should see what poor Batsy looks like when I’m at full strength,” Joker grinned.

“I don’t know if I should be jealous or not,” Bruce responded, and it made Joker something in his gut flip at the boldness.

“Oh, Bruce. If you asked nicely, I promise to hit you at full strength. Otherwise, I think you’ll have to live with the memory of that little love tap,” Joker said, hoping his face wasn’t looking as dopey, love sick as he felt.

“Are you saying you won’t hit me unless I ask?” Bruce stilled.

Joker opened his mouth to respond with sarcasm, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth. He hadn’t meant to tell Bruce he wasn’t going to hurt him again. At least, physically. It just slipped out in their word play. Like everything else Joker hadn’t wanted anyone to know. He could play it off, but he didn’t want to.

He had meant it when he told Batman he didn't want to scare Bruce off. Maybe ensure Bruce knew what he was getting himself into, sure. A little scare never hurt anyone. He couldn't afford for Bruce to be frightened of him. That would make this whole thing taste sour, and that's the last thing he wanted. Not when he was so close to getting another taste of Bruce.

“I…-well, I— if…” Joker began then his mouth closed again.

There was silence between them, and Joker really wanted to shift or move his body. The straps keeping him still in the chair never felt quite so confining. His hands were cold, and he wanted the blanket to cover them. Anything to do that wasn’t staring at Bruce’s perfect face and seeing disappointment.

Again.

“Let’s start with something else,” Bruce offered. “I want to see you in the future, but I don’t want to worry about you leading me on like you have in the past with others.”

The unspoken mention of Harley. Joker had twisted her initial interest in him to feed his own ego. At least, at the start. Things became far more complicated than that. Next to Batman, she knew more about Joker than anyone else still breathing. That said volumes for how Joker actually felt about her but Joker understood what Bruce meant with that statement.

Don’t say this means something if it doesn’t.

“What do you have in mind?” Joker asked.

“Tell me something you haven’t told anyone else, or very few people,” Bruce said and hurried when Joker’s mouth opened to object, “It doesn’t have to compromise anything about you or your past. I know that’s a taboo subject, and I wouldn’t expect you to tell me anything serious for a _long_ time. I get it.” Bruce let out a sigh before continuing. “I just want something to hold onto when everyone tells me I’m crazy for doing this.”

Joker chewed on his lip.

“Why don’t you start us off?” Joker countered. “If I must tell you something, you do as well. I hear relationships are all about equal work, and honesty.”

Bruce appeared as though he wanted to argue it. His shoulders tensed, and Joker thought he was going to back down for a second. Then, Bruce’s shoulders relaxed, and he leaned forward.

Joker almost laughed again. When had Bruce ever backed down from him?

Never. Bruce _never_ pulled away.

Joker felt his insides warm and could hardly stop the smile on his face even if he wanted to.

“That’s… fair,” Bruce said, his hands folding on the table. “When I was young, around five or six, I fell into an old well. The boards were rotten and gave way as soon as I stepped foot on them. It’s where I got this scar.”

Bruce pulled back the cuff of his left wrist to show a pebble of white scar tissue. That early in life it would have circled his whole wrist. Joker had the urge to kiss that skin.

“I was stuck down there, in the dark, for an hour before my dad saved me,” Bruce’s voice became soft, distant, as though reliving the memory. “But the worst part wasn’t my broken wrist, or even being in the dark. The boards allowed bats to live there and they were startled. They flew around me, making awful screeching sounds, their wings beating against me, and I couldn’t escape them. I had nightmares of bats for years after that. Only my butler, Alfred, ever knew that since I didn’t tell my parents.”

“You thought they’d be ashamed?” Joker asked.

“That small flying rats are the reason their son wakes up screaming in the middle of the night?” Bruce raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisted. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Joker said with a soft smile. “I’ve seen a particularly large one up close. They can be nightmarish in the right lighting. Just don’t tell _him_ I said that.”

Bruce huffed out a laugh. It was small, but Joker counted it as a win. Then, Bruce was quiet, his eyes meeting Joker’s, and then a Joker felt his stomach drop.

Oh, right. His turn.

Joker licked his lips, willing his body to stop fidgeting. He could think of something to offer Bruce, right? There was the story about how his abusive father never laughed at his jokes until he took him to the circus. He doubted Bruce would believe that one though. It had been printed in a book by one of those doctors looking to make a profit. If Bruce did any research at all, he would know that story was fake.

This was quite the pickle.

Joker didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to tell the truth. Saying nothing wasn’t an option either, if Bruce’s growing concerned face was anything to go by. After all, Joker was sort of hoping Bruce would chicken out on the whole revealing something about yourself in order to prove you’re serious about this relationship thing. Bruce told him a truth. Something small but Joker could feel the power behind that story. It added another piece to the puzzle that was Bruce Wayne, and Joker scrambled to not put the pieces together. He didn’t want to ruin what was in front of him, and then the room started to spin.

Was it suddenly hot in here?

“Joker?” Bruce asked.

“Just thinking,” Joker said quickly, his mind racing. “Can’t give you something not on par with the bit you provided me. After all, the fear of your romantic partner’s other crush usually makes people nervous, but I feel like it’s maybe a bit more for you after that. The whole _bat thing_ and all.”

“You’re stalling.”

 _Damn right_ , Joker thought viciously.

“Have you heard the story of how my mother used to beat me?” Joker asked with a grin.

“That’s not what I asked for,” Bruce’s stern voice was coming back, and it made Joker’s heart speed up.

“Well, my father walked out on my poor mother and me when I was just five years old. Do you want to hear what we had to do for money?,” Joker’s voice went up in pitch, that grin hurting the corners of his mouth now, and his ears throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

“That’s not even close,” Bruce argued, and stood up. “If you’re not going to offer something, _anything_ , to prove you’re going to try, then I’m leaving.”

“Wait!” Joker shouted. “I’m _trying_! Look, I’m giving you things but you’re turning them down!”

“That’s because they’re all _lies_ ,” Bruce said, and that look of disappointment returned. Joker felt himself shrink against the chair. “I’m not going to be one of your fans. I wanted to be… hell, even I don’t know but not this. If we're taking this seriously then you need to prove it Joker. Just... anything.”

Bruce's eyes were pleading, and Joker sat with his mouth open. No more lies. But, he couldn't say anything. How could he? There was a tension between them as though each stood on the edge of a cliff. Bruce was offering to jump with him. Wasn't that insane? Joker was laughing before he even knew it.

Bruce turned away.

Joker lurched in his chair all laughter dying instantly, trying to stop Bruce as he walked away, but the tight straps prevented him from moving an inch. This wasn’t how the dance was supposed to go! Joker just didn’t know the moves yet, and Bruce was throwing in the towel already? Just because he couldn’t come up with something to satisfy Bruce’s need to know him?

What did Joker have to prove anyways? Just because he doesn’t have a book’s worth of sad, sob stories like Bruce does, doesn’t mean he needs to _share_ anything. There have been better people, who worked far harder than Bruce ever had to get some small detail, a gleam of what made Joker tick, and Bruce thought he could just _demand it_? As though he was owed something of Joker?

Joker swelled with hot anger. He was too good for Bruce anyways! He had Batman, who never asked for anything. They had a good thing going, and Bruce had to throw a wrench in the works. Joker wasn’t going to be blinded by a handsome face.

After all, he was probably bluffing. Just trying to scare Joker. No one drops that little detail of their life then just packs up, and leaves. Right?

The small room erupted in the sharp squeal of metal. Bruce pulled the door open.

“Goodbye, Joker,” Bruce said and it sounded final.

Oh no.

He was really going to leave, wasn’t he?

Joker’s heart hammered in his chest.

Would Bruce even visit him now? Would he _forget him_? Joker would be stuck, wasting away his days, slowly decaying in the bowels of Arkham’s sweet yet cruel embrace while Bruce stayed in the thriving city. Where he could have anyone. Someone willing to tell all their pretty little secrets. Bruce might even tell them his story of the bats.

And he would forget Joker in time. How could he not?

Then Joker would be alone. Forgotten.

“JOHN!” Joker shouted, his voice shrill, on the very edge of panic.

His shout echoed in the halls loud enough for Joker to hear over the pumping of his blood. He was shaking, shivering in his chair but not from the cold. He bit his lip hard as though to punish it for letting that name slip between them.

“I’m sorry?” Bruce asked, his voice so quiet from behind Joker.

“J-john,” Joker muttered, the name only slightly easier to say the second time. “It’s my birth name.”

The seconds stretched between them, and Joker worried at his lip enough to make it bleed. He sucked on the copper taste, focusing on something other than his want to vomit, and the twisting in his chest.

He flinched when the door shut.

Bruce circled around, Joker could tell by the sound of his feet, but Joker was staring at the table. He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the empty chair in front of him. The disappointment back in Bruce’s eyes. Or worse, _smugness_.

No one had gotten Joker’s birth name from him. They had only ever asked for his name, which was Joker. He had shed that name a long time ago, before puberty even set in. It never felt right. Neither had any other name he called himself until Joker. Joker was his rightful name.

He wasn’t a ‘John’. Too plain. Too _common_.

This information wouldn’t track down Joker’s past. That wasn’t the point though. It was something people had wanted from him for years. People tried to break him to get it, as though it were a prize to be won. And he just _gave it away_. To someone he had just met. Someone who could take this information and use it to get onto talk shows, gain popularity. Not that Bruce needed any of that, but it was there. Gnawing at him. He gave a secret away. Stupid!

“John?” Bruce said, and something in Joker’s chest burst. There was no way something plain like that name should be said in such a revered tone. Not with the breathlessness of a pray, and not by Bruce Wayne who already made his insides twist themselves into knots.

Joker started when warm fingertips pressed into his hair. His head shot up to see Bruce’s face. Wide eyed, mouth slightly open, and looking at Joker like he hung the stars in the sky.

 _Oh_.

Joker pushed his head further into Bruce’s hand, feeling the drag of his nails on his scalp, being mindful of the shaved patch where Joker's head wound was stitched. The swelling of panic calmed to a simmer under those fingers, and Bruce knelt to be level with Joker, his hand still nestled into Joker’s hair. That smooth, solid pressure never easing.

“It’s a nice name,” Bruce said, close enough that Joker’s face was fanned with his breath.

“I _hate_ it,” Joker mumbled and couldn’t stop the words from coming now that his secret was out. Like bleeding a wound so it healed properly. “It’s just my _birth_ name. It’s _stupid_. John is what they call people without names. Without an identity. It's a placeholder until you figure out who you are, and I'm not John anymore. Haven't been in a very, _very_ long time.”

Bruce’s hand continued to massage him, and Joker felt raw. His entire body was thrumming with panicked energy as his natural response to sharing any real details of himself was to murder the one he told. It was a lesson he learned a long time ago. Never share anything with another person unless he wanted it used against him. Joker had to fight his responses, his need to bite on Bruce's neck until the man died from the wound. It was impossible to tell a secret with his throat torn out.

Joker leaned into Bruce's hand, silently asking for him to keep going. As though he sensed Joker's mood, Bruce continued his slow drag through Joker's hair. They remained silent as the tension slowly left Joker's body, and the panic receded, leaving Joker feeling exhausted. Joker had almost fallen asleep despite the restraints when Bruce spoke again.

“Who else knows your birth name?” Bruce asked and Joker almost didn't respond.

“No one still alive,” Joker answered.

“Alright,” Bruce whispered near his ear, and Joker shuttered. “Just one more question.”

Joker was close to telling him no more, when he saw Bruce’s pupils expand. He nodded instead, licking his lips, and already knowing his answer.

“May I kiss you?” Bruce asked, his hand already transferring from Joker’s hair to cupping his jaw.

“Yes,” Joker sighed.

Their lips met, and Joker moaned. Unlike their other shared kisses, this was slow, and chaste by comparison. They moved together, licking, and gently nipping at each other’s lips. When Joker’s started to bleed again, Bruce kissed it, and soothed the sting with his own tongue. The pit of Joker's gut warmed, his chest relaxing, and his heart fluttered. It was almost perfect. Almost everything he needed.

"Bruce," Joker said, pulling slightly away to halt their kissing.

"Yes?" asked Bruce with his voice deliciously low.

"Sharing secrets may be enough for _you_ ," Joker began, his eyes drifting to Bruce's lips. "But words are fleeting. People share intimate parts of themselves all the time and still don't mean anything by them. You can't hold onto words after all. Memories are funny like that. They fade, and twist, and scream into the abyss. They're not enough for _me_."

"What do you need from me?" Bruce asked, his fingers curling. "What can I give you?"

"Bite me," Joker demanded in a growl. "Leave a mark so I know this is _real_."

Bruce opened his mouth, as though he were going to deny the request. Joker could see the hesitation as Bruce's eyes looked over the numerous wounds, straps, and bandages littering his body. Bruce was a man who wanted to heal him, and Joker knew this was going to be a hard ask, but Joker had a need as well. He needed to see a reminder. Just as he needs to see Batman's work on his body, he needs to see Bruce's. To feel the pain on his skin. It can't all be in his head then.

Joker was about to demand it again, plead if he had to, when Bruce spoke.

"Where?" he asked.

"My thigh," Joker answered immediately, his voice breathy as he was already picturing Bruce kneeling there, his teeth sinking in. "It has to be somewhere I can see, but not where the doctors would. This is for _me_ , not them."

Bruce worked quickly at the straps, pulling at them as though practiced. Joker couldn't help as his whole focus was on watching Bruce's nimble fingers work, then the sensation of cold hitting his skin. Joker's skin pimpled, and Bruce inspected the area. There were a few spots without bandages. One spot, roughly the size of a fist, near Joker's inner thigh, looked promising. Bruce must have thought so as well, since he ran his thumb over it, sending shivers up Joker's spine at the touch.

"Will here work?" he questioned, his gaze never leaving the flesh exposed to him.

"Yes," Joker squirmed slightly, his arousal burning. "Do it quickly Bruce, or I might not let you leave this room."

Bruce tightened his jaw, and his hand gripped tightly at Joker’s thigh. Bruce lowered his mouth, kissed the skin as though warning it, and then sunk his teeth in. Joker threw his head back in ecstasy. 

Bruce didn’t just bite him. He sucked at the skin, his tongue lapping at it, and moaned as though eating a fine meal. The hand on Joker’s thigh was grasping for purchase and the other one wrapped around Joker’s ankle. Joker could feel Bruce’s body warm as the heat between his thighs built enough that Joker’s skin began to sweat.

Joker could die from this. He was pretty sure. When Bruce finally broke his skin, Joker lost time.

His head was floating, and his thigh radiated pleasure in pulses timed with his heart beat. His cock strained against his pants, hard, and demanding for attention. Tiny shivers ran up his spine as a warm tongue ran across the skin as though the soothe it. Joker didn’t want it soothed. He wanted the sharp pain back that gave way to the wash of pleasure after, but when he opened his eyes, the words stuck in his throat.

Bruce’s lips were red from his blood, and his pupils were blown. He looked dangerous, kneeling there with possessive hands on Joker's body, and his nostrils flaring. Joker’s mouth fell open at the arousing sight in front of him. Joker’s brain chanted ‘beautiful, he's beautiful', and Joker may have said it aloud based on Bruce’s predatory smirk.

Then, they were kissing again.

It wasn’t chaste, or slow. It was dirty and fast. Their teeth clashed more than once, and they were both growling. The taste of Joker's blood shared between their mouths, and they fought over it. Joker pulled at his restraints, not cognoscente enough to remove them. The want for Bruce pulled him far too hard, blinding his senses, silencing his logic. Joker hated the bindings as he wanted to tear the clothes off Bruce, pin him to the table, and ruin him.

Bruce cupped Joker through his boxers and stroked him. It only took the heat of Bruce's perfect hand, to feel the need within Bruce to please Joker, and Joker came hard as Bruce swallowed his moans. They didn’t stop kissing though. Only slowed as Bruce cleverly took a handkerchief out of his pocket, unzipped his fly, and stroked himself to completion into it. His Bruce was smart not to leave evidence, even if it meant he had to tuck it into his expensive jacket pocket. Joker was half tempted to ask for it, if only to see how much he could get away with.

When they pulled away Joker laughed at the absurdity of their situation. How could this not be funny? Bruce Wayne paid off guards to ask Joker if he wanted to date, and they ended up coming like horny teenagers. They barely lasted a few minutes and even so, Joker's toes curled in satisfaction. His lungs burned from panting, his throat was raw from moaning, and every nerve was tingling. Based on Bruce's first performance and this, Joker was easily becoming swayed to the light side. How could he not when Bruce was only a few inches from him, panting, flushed, and looking like the most appetizing thing he'd ever seen?

Bruce didn’t laugh with him, but he silenced Joker with his mouth, and that was just as good. Bruce was the sensible one, muttering their need to redress Joker before the guards came. Joker had latched his teeth on Bruce's bottom lip, growling. He didn't care if he was exposed to them. Let them see Bruce's work. Let the world know Joker chose this man over any other.

Bruce called his bluff though. Clever man. He pulled back, and before Joker's teeth could cause any damage, he released him. Bruce had the good grace not to smirk. Bruce had also kissed the bite mark, making it tingle, before straightening Joker’s pants. It was like an apology for hiding it away. He retied the bindings slowly as though reluctant. Joker hummed in pleasure every time he felt the straps pull at him.

Neither mentioned the last strap left by itself. Like with the waist trainer, Bruce refused to put it on Joker.

They didn’t speak again. There wasn’t any need to. Their bodies were sated, and the grin would hardly be removed from Joker’s mouth. Bruce’s hand returned to Joker’s hair, something Joker was coming to find out was a favorite spot for Bruce. Joker nuzzled at his wrist, kissing the scarred skin. Where Joker had also bitten him before during their fight. Joker didn't break skin, the area was smooth, but they both knew.

Joker doubted either of them knew how long they had been together. Time was floaty around Bruce. Joker’s internal clock was off, but Joker didn’t mind. It made the time seem longer and that was good. They pulled apart only when they heard the footsteps echoing down the hall. Bruce gave him a parting kiss on his cheek, before standing up, and moving away just in time for the door to be opened.

“Time’s up,” Cash announced as two guards came in to point their guns at Joker who was rebound.

The nurse stepped into the room, already resting his hands on the chair, ready to pull Joker out of the room as soon as they were cleared. Joker watched as Cash picked up the strap laying on the table that covered Joker’s mouth before. Cash eyed the leather, then Bruce.

“You remove this?” Cash asked.

“That was approved to be removed,” Bruce answered assertively.

“Wasn’t asking if it was or wasn’t,” Cash said. “I’m just surprised you lasted that long while letting him talk.”

“Oh, Cash, I’m crushed!” Joker said dramatically. “To think you don’t enjoy my dulcet tones.”

Cash gave a look to Bruce as though to say, ‘see what I mean’. Then he barked the orders to start getting Joker to maximum security where Joker’s padded cell was waiting. Most likely they’d use the one with the good bed this time since Joker needed medical care, but this was Arkham. He might get the one with the mold.

Joker made a kissing face at Bruce, who’s lips were suspiciously redder than before.

“Don’t forget to visit, Brucey,” Joker called out. “It gets lonely in here for us clowns.”

“I’ll visit,” Bruce said, his voice full of conviction that warmed Joker, and earned Bruce a concerned look from Cash. “Promise.”

“Let’s move,” Cash barked. “We’re already behind on delivering him.”

Joker was turned away from Bruce after that and wheeled up the hallway once more. The guards flanked him, and their jumping at every sound didn’t cause Joker to want to poke at them. Instead, he was busy licking his lips, tasting Bruce there. His inner thigh burned where the bite lay.

Joker may not know all the moves yet, but he was a fast learner. He’s sure they’ll work out the kinks soon enough, and when they do, Joker will join Bruce on the outside. He had a date to look forward to after all, and it would be rude to miss it. Even Cash’s threats to bind his mouth shut didn’t stop Joker from giggling the whole way back to his cell.

When they wheeled him in to the same standard room all inmates of normal human stature got, he expected the twin bed bolted to the floor, the bare walls, and the camera in the corner. What caused Joker to grin wide was the pair of purple slippers tucked safely under the frame and waiting to be worn. They weren’t from Arkham. Arkham issued slippers were thin and pink things that barely kept the cold of the floors at bay. These were expensive, fleece interior, and had a tiny bow on top.

A gift from his Bruce. One he bestowed on Joker even if Joker declined him.

Joker gleefully put them on as soon as he was left in the room, his toes warming up instantly. He pulled the bow off and stuck it to the bed frame for safe keeping. He touched one hand to his kiss swollen lips, and the other to the bite.

Oh yes. Bruce Wayne was going to be _a lot_ of fun.


End file.
